I have posted this piece here after the Benfanstorybox Yahoo Group folded so that it is not lost.
CONTENT WARNING: This is an erotic horror story dealing in extreme themes such as abduction, nonconsensual sexual acts, body modification and objectification, and what might be called torture. Despite frequent use of the term “girl” all characters are 18 or over. This story is intended as pure fantasy for the enjoyment of ADULTS ONLY. Please do not repost this story to any site frequented by minors, or remove this warning.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This somewhat long story was originally written as a serial. For best enjoyment I suggest taking a break after each chapter.
Thanks to Alex Streuth, Ted E. Bear, H. Dean, Doggers, and the many others who have taken the time to offer encouragement and suggestions that have made his story better than I could have alone.
“On the Table”
Chapter 1 – Welcome
When the girl woke up she first thought the bright light in her eyes was the Sun, shining through the window of her bedroom as it did on so many blue-skied mornings. Then she felt the pain. Not sharp, stabbing pain, but a deep slow burning and soreness that came from points all over her body. The pain brought her almost fully awake, and she realized the light in her eyes was not the Sun.
She was on her back, laying not in her bed but on something firmer, and staring up into a constellation of floodlights. After a moment of disorientation – she had difficulty clearing her head – her last waking memory returned to her.
It was dark. She was walking from her dorm to the college pool for morning practice in the black quiet hours before dawn. Suddenly she heard a noise, and as she turned strong hands grasped her. More than two hands. A foul-smelling cloth was clamped over her face and even as she remembered to scream her vision faded….
And now she lay on what felt like a padded table, staring up into the lights. She felt air on her skin and realized she was naked, but the room was warm enough that she did not feel cold. She tried to raise her head, but found it was restrained by a band across her forehead. The back of her head sat in a sculpted headrest, and the cunning restraint held her head securely enough that she was prevented even from turning it from side to side. She tried to raise her arms but they did not respond. Her arms just tingled faintly – she felt no restraints on them but they wouldn’t respond. The effort served only to awaken fresh, jangling pain in her shoulders. Across her torso and legs she felt many rigid bands. When she tried to twist within their grasp, to test their strength, she felt strangely weak. Her body was slow to answer her commands, sluggish, and moved without the power she was accustomed to feeling as an athletic young woman, a top diver on her college team.
Feeling oddly detached, she wondered why she hadn’t panicked in the midst of this nightmare. Was it a nightmare? No, she didn’t think so. It just felt dreamy. Her mind was moving as slowly as her body. She had been drugged.
Fighting the cobwebs that she could not quite sweep from her mind, she took in her surroundings. The bands held her unyieldingly, but not uncomfortably. She guessed they were of padded metal. Her firm buttocks were cradled in a seat or saddle that fitted her closely so that, as with the headrest, a few strategic bands across the front of her hips and the tops of her thighs held her pelvis securely. Her private area was exposed to the air, and felt somehow odd. Above her, the floodlights hung from a flat white ceiling. In their midst and directly above her head a video screen was mounted, facing down at her. The screen was dark but a small green light glowed at the edge nearest her toes, and what looked like a tiny camera sprouted from the opposite edge and pointed down at her. Rolling her eyes as far as she could to all sides, she could see all four walls of her little room, at least their upper portions, and they were white. To the right she could see the top of a door frame, with a white door standing closed within. From the left side of her table, near her feet, a shiny metal rod rose, and from it hung a plastic bag filled with clear liquid. A thin clear tube dangled from the bag – she was on an IV. Next to the rod she could see the top of a strange box that might have been medical equipment of some kind.
Was she in a hospital? Had she had an accident? No, she remembered the attack. Maybe she had been kidnapped, but rescued, and was in a hospital now. Then why the restraints, why was she naked? She tried to envision some explanation for these things that did not fill her with dread. Finally her drug-hobbled mind admitted that her ordeal – whatever its nature – must be just beginning rather than ending. She closed her eyes and cried quietly.
After a time the tears ebbed. Being unable to raise her head to see herself the girl concentrated on reading the signals sent from the various parts of her body. She seemed at first to be covered in pain, but as she listened carefully to her body she could feel exactly where she had been injured. The pain was concentrated in her feet, her shoulders, her tummy, and her chest. Her feet hurt the worst, and were splinted or otherwise immobilized with her toes pointing straight away from her head. She felt what might have been gauze dressings on her shoulders. She tried again and still couldn’t move her arms, or gain any real sensation from them, as though they had fallen asleep. Maybe her arm straps had been fixed too tight, cutting off the circulation? Her breasts made burning complaints, and sharp knives were lodged in her sides, making movement painful. In her abdomen, she felt a strange combination of swelling and emptiness, not like hunger, and a deep soreness that seemed to penetrate her very core.
The quiet was suddenly broken by the sound of the door opening and the clack of leather-soled footsteps on a hard floor. After the quiet time since her awakening, which had lasted she knew not how long, the everyday sounds were as startling as gunfire.
“Hello!” said a pleasant voice, and the face of a dark haired, middleaged, spectacled man moved into her field of vision. He was wearing a white coat, and seemed familiar with the place as he looked quickly at the medical equipment and at a chart which had been hanging at the side of her bed. “You’ll have to excuse me for keeping you waiting, I was attending another subject when I’d heard you’d awakened. I’m sure you have many questions.”
The girl tried to speak, but her mouth felt even more sluggish than the rest of her body. Her jaw felt stiff and her tongue flopped like dead meat, and the only sound that came from her lips sounded like “gullll.” The man chuckled.
“I didn’t expect you to actually ask questions. As part of your recovery regimen you have been given powerful drugs that I know make it difficult to speak. But I can guess some of the things you’d like to know.” He adjusted his glasses and lapsed into a scripted delivery:
“Where are you? You are in a private and exclusive clinic specializing in body and behavior modification. The precise location is unimportant. Our primary business is the recruitment, development, and training of custom pleasure companions for a wealthy international clientele.”
“Who am I? I am the specialist in charge of your development. You may think of me as your doctor.”
“Why are you here? You were selected because of certain physical and temperamental characteristics that make you a promising subject for our work here. Let’s see…” he flipped through the pages of the chart, which was clipped into a hinged aluminum case and included paper forms, photographs, even x-rays. “Age, 20 – that’s ideal. Physically mature but far enough removed from the effects of age to make investment in your modifications worthwhile. Your personality shows a high level of sexual curiosity, natural submissiveness, and suggestibility.” The doctor looked up from the chart.
“Do you remember that funny hypnotist who brought his act to your campus, put you under so easily and made you do all those silly things I’m sure your friends kept teasing you about? He was one of our scouts.” He turned his eyes to the chart case again.
“Physically you possess excellent skin clarity and tone, which being the most difficult thing to correct is the one real requirement for subjects here. Ethnicity: Caucasian, East Mediterranean subgroup. Eyes: brown. Hair: dark auburn and naturally curly. That’s cute, we’ll see if you get to keep it. Height: 159 cm – on the short side but within desirable parameters. Hip-to-waist ratio 1.6, upon recruitment…that’s a very good number!” He made eye contact and smiled, making clear that this odd reference to her hips – which the girl considered embarrassingly broad – was a compliment. “Your shoulder span is wider than average and your spine straight and healthy, with well developed musculature, so you are a fine candidate for a mammary maximization program.”
He was going much too fast for the girl’s impaired brain to absorb all he said, but she was increasingly horrified by the tone he used as he spoke about her body – as though she were a project rather than a patient, an object without thoughts or feelings of her own.
“What have we done to you?” The “doctor” continued, adjusting his glasses again as he returned to the chart. “Well, quite a bit actually. You’ve been under sedation here at the clinic for 4 days, during which we have done most of the heavier work in developing you for your new role as an ‘fantasy’ pleasure companion. It’s dangerous to keep you under for much longer than that, so we’ve allowed you to awaken while keeping you on a cocktail of muscle relaxants and tranquilizers. Otherwise, you might thrash about and cause unsightly scarring at the sites of your recent procedures….which we wouldn’t want, would we? And of course it is easier for everyone if you remain compliant while we perform the remainder of the procedures that have been ordered.”
“In terms of what we’ve done so far: one of our talented surgeons has narrowed your feet, for aesthetic appeal, and reinforced them to facilitate walking ‘en pointe’ – like a ballerina – without dislocating your toes or turning your ankles.”
“Your mammary enhancement is well underway, using a procedure developed right here at the clinic. Your natural bust…” – he paused to flip through the chart – “a D cup, was a little larger than average for your build, but we can do much better. Our surgeon has removed most of the fatty tissue in your breasts and implanted highly elastic polymer sacs. Now we will inject, at intervals, a solution into the sacs, through ports installed in your armpits. You’ve had two courses of injections already, while you slept. As the sacs are inflated, they will stretch your breasts, and we will give you oral and topical supplements to encourage the growth of new skin. Don’t worry, the schedule’s been worked out so there will be a minimum of stretch marks, we know what we’re doing. When we have grown your breasts to the ordered size, which is, let me see…” He flipped through the chart again.
“10,000 CCs…. oh my!” he laughed. “Well, you do have the skeletal structure to carry that. When we’ve expanded you to within 80% of that point we’ll make a final injection of a small amount of catalyst that will cause the liquid to expand to the ordered volume and congeal into a soft, slightly foamy plastic. The final look and feel will be quite similar to natural breasts – except that since the foam is a little less dense than natural tissue, and the sacs add resilience, your breasts will resist gravity somewhat better than homegrown breasts of similar size. Then the valves in your armpits will be removed and the wounds closed.”
Through the shock and drug-induced fog the girl latched onto the number “10,000 CCs,” and tried to understand what that meant. She had always been good with metric conversions….1,000 CCs in a liter, 10 liters…. a liter is just a little bigger than a quart, so….more than two and a half gallons? And was that the total volume he intended for both her poor boobies, or was that for…each?!?
The doctor was droning on. “…lower abdomen, and we’ll probably do more lipo at a few other points later. We’ve enhanced your already fine hip-to-waist ratio by removing the two lowest sets of ribs and a portion of your small intestine, which you won’t need on your new diet. After the swelling goes down you’ll probably be around 1.9 or a little better, even before we begin any corset training. You have the potential to become a truly spectacular specimen in that department. And we’ve helped that H2W further, while preventing the usual female issues from posing inconveniences in your planned role, by performing a hysterectomy. No more messy periods, or mood swings, or worries about getting pregnant. We did all the abdominal work arthroscopically, via the vagina, so there are no external scars.” The doctor sounded proud. The girl began to cry again.
“We’ve also made,” he looked quickly at her groin, then bent to examine the dressings at her shoulders, “some other modifications that are currently fashionable…”
The girl didn’t hear the last part, having given way finally to a sedated despair at learning that her womb had been excised. At first she didn’t believe it, but as she tuned her senses to her tummy she knew it was true: in the midst of the soreness and postsurgical swelling was a profound hollowness.
Sexually curious? Was he calling her a slut? She wasn’t a virgin, but she was a nice girl. She didn’t want to be a “fantasy pleasure companion!” She wanted to find a husband someday, have a family….
Had wanted to. Tears poured from the corners of her brown eyes, closed again now against the brightness of the lights on the ceiling, and little whines escaped her slack lips.
The doctor stopped his dissertation and looked down at her with a frown that might, for a moment, have suggested pity. Then he sighed, and turned, and left her field of vision briefly. Through her physical and emotional agony the girl heard a chorus of metallic rattles, as the doctor wheeled a stool and a small cart to the head of her table.
“Well, there’s nothing to do about it now,” he said. “Perhaps you’ll come to see the advantages eventually. Meanwhile, we still have a lot of work to do.”
Just out of the girl’s view, the doctor donned some light plastic gauntlets, then snapped white latex gloves over them. He spoke into a small microphone clipped to his coat:
“Nurse Twelve, bring a set of oral restraints to room G.” The “doctor” hummed a little tune while he fidgeted with some tools outside the restrained girl’s field of vision. Then he turned and rolled his stool over to look into her face.
“I know you’ve been properly hydrated but your mouth is probably very dry. Let me wet it for you.”
He broke the seal on a plastic bottle and poured water over a stack of small gauze pads. Once they were soaked, he held the dripping wad in front of his still weeping captive’s mouth and raised his eyebrows at her. Slowly she spread her jaws and the doctor began to swab around her lips and inside her mouth.
It felt wonderful; she hadn’t realized how dry she had been. She wondered whether she should be grateful for this small kindness, though it came from her captor, a man who was a partner in her mutilation. It was all very confusing. She remembered one of the things he had said about her profile: “naturally submissive.” She closed her eyes in shame.
“That’s better now. I need to keep you on the IV a bit longer, but I don’t want your tongue or other tissues to be too dry – that would increase the irritation and bleeding from the procedures we still need to do.”
The girl realized the doctor’s actions had nothing to do with kindness. Moistening her lips and mouth had been intended only to serve his needs, as he converted her into some kind of freakish living Barbie. She scowled, as best she could. She should have bitten him.
She couldn’t know that under his latex gloves he wore plastic armor on his fingers. One of his purposes had been to test her readiness to submit. He looked down at her furrowed brow and angry stare, and smiled.
“What, giving me the evil eye? We’ll put a stop to that soon enough.”
The door opened with a bang and another cart rattled into the room, followed by a new set of footsteps. The nurse entered and pushed her cart toward the foot of the table, so that the bound girl’s first view of her was from behind. She was wearing what appeared to be the traditional white uniform, but with a shiny black garment underneath. A glistening dark sheath hid the flesh of her neck, and descended into a white fabric uniform blouse. The arms that projected from the short sleeves of the blouse were likewise clad in shiny black rubber or plastic, with a baggy fit to allow movement. The table-bound girl did not see any hair behind the pointy white cap.
The nurse glided across the floor with quick, short steps that clicked on the hard floor. She disappeared momentarily as she bent to pick some equipment up off the cart. When she turned and carried it toward the doctor near the head of the table, the restrained girl finally caught a glimpse of her face. The thought occurred to her suddenly that her abductors might be space aliens.
Under her nurse’s cap the attendant’s face was covered by a shiny black mask. Large convex mirrored lenses covered the eyes, hiding them completely. The lower part of the mask projected slightly, and might have enclosed a short snout just as easily as a human face. There was no obvious nose opening, but a round, rubber-rimmed port projected in front, where a human mouth would be. A metallic mesh was recessed into the port, closing it, and through this grille a faint gasp of air could be heard passing in and out.
After all the shocks she had suffered since awakening, the girl still somehow found the nurse the most terrifying thing that she had yet encountered. Her eyes widened and nerves fired all over her body, as her flesh rose in goose pimples and her muscles tensed against the unyielding bands.
The developer was less alarmed by the nurse’s entrance. “Yes, Twelve, right there is fine. Now check the subject’s catheters while I set up the restraints. I think she’s due for a purge.”
The nurse did not speak or nod but clicked smoothly toward the foot of the table, out of the terrified girl’s field of vision. In a moment she felt rubbery fingers brushing the insides of her slightly spread thighs. There was a sudden tug that seemed to reach right into her, followed by a dull burning in her bladder. Then another tug that pulled directly on her bowel. Between the drugs and all her more pressing concerns the girl hadn’t really noticed them before, but after this demonstration she became aware of unfamiliar intrusions in her urethra and anus.
The nurse must have signaled to the “doctor,” as he gave further orders while fiddling with some kind of complicated chrome bracket. “OK, do a urine dump, then a 500 CC colonic.”
The nurse must have opened a valve, as the girl suddenly felt an easing of what had been mild pressure in her bladder. Her pee flowed silently out of her, apparently through a tube into a receptacle somewhere. It was a very odd sensation, to be deprived of any control over such a basic and private function. She blushed again as her terror faded, overruled by humiliation.
The developer bent over her to fix the strange bracket to the table, next to her mouth. As he picked up a second, similar device from the cart and fiddled with it his captive felt a rush of cool liquid into her bowel. It continued until she felt a little bloated, but not yet uncomfortable. Her guts began to churn slightly as the liquid sloshed inside her.
“That’s not water, it’s a mild cleansing solution, so you may feel some cramping. But it will keep you clean and healthy.” The white coated man spoke absently, as he mounted the second bracket next to her mouth, opposite the first. The shiny articulated arms were shaped like double-Ls, with many curved projections and knobs. The inner ends groped like sinister robotic fingers toward the corners of the girl’s mouth.
The first mild cramps hit as the developer spoke again. “OK, now open your mouth again for me.” The girl had no illusions this time that the “doctor’s” intentions were merciful, and clamped her lips as she stared at the ceiling. She felt his eyes on her but focused on the blank video screen that hung above, fighting the urge to meet the doctor’s gaze. The only sound she heard was the raspy breath of the nurse, out of view somewhere near the foot of the table.
Chapter 2 – Open Wide
“I said: open your mouth.”
The girl’s chin trembled but her eyes remained fixed on the dark video monitor above her face, her lips tightly shut. She understood now that there was no mercy or kindness here, no thought for her welfare. These people saw her as an object, a raw material to be twisted and shaped to suit their perverted fantasies. She was damned if she was going to just lay there and obey, facilitating her own mutilation. Despite the tranquilizers she was filling rapidly with terror at the thought of what they might do to force her, but still she was determined to fight!
The developer sighed quietly, disappointed. “Trying to be stubborn? I thought you were smarter than that. You know, there’s really no way for you to resist. In your current condition I could easily pry your jaws open. But it’s important for your training that you decide yourself to come along with our program. Right now, you may not think it’s a good idea to open your mouth, but there are many techniques I could employ to convince you otherwise. Do we really need to explore those alternatives?”
He paused for a while to let her imagination operate. In a moment, dozens of gruesome images played across her brain, from horror movies and the tales of ancient martyrs. She shivered, and broke into a sweat at the same time. The little cramps from the soapy enema still inside her grew more frequent, but the girl held her gaze on the monitor, and her lips shut. She felt she had to make a stand, to prove that she was not “naturally submissive,” as their profile so blandly indicted. The thought occurred to her that if she proved herself a less than ideal subject, they might let her go! Or, she realized, they might dispose of her. It was a chance she had to take.
“Well, I have a schedule to keep, and it doesn’t include time for negotiations with a silly girl. Nurse, drain the colonic.” In a moment the horrible fluid began to rush silently out of the girl, and her bowel eased.
Was that it? Had she won?
“As soon as she’s empty give her 1,000 CC of the punitive solution. And prepare 250 CC of the capsicum in a syringe, and connect it to the urinary catheter.”
While the nurse could be heard busying herself the developer turned back to their subject and spoke with mild condescension, as though her display of courage was just a waste of everyone’s time.
“Do you understand what that means? That means I’m getting ready to pump about half a pint of hot pepper sauce into your bladder, and hold it in there. Can you imagine what that will feel like?”
In her terror the girl lost her focus for a moment, and her eyes met the doctor’s. He looked so calm, so patient, so…superior. She had to blink to break the stare, and refocused her eyes on the monitor. Her chin quivered, but her lips stayed shut.
“Yes, go ahead,” the developer ordered the nurse, and cool fluid rushed again through the plastic tube that violated the girl’s anus, flooding her bowel. This time it did not stop before the point of discomfort, but continued to rush in under pressure. She tried to tighten her abdomen to fight the flow, but it was no use. It continued until she was painfully bloated, and even after the valve was closed the sloshing and gurgling continued as the pressurized liquid forced its way high into her colon.
This “punitive” solution was more concentrated than the mild “cleansing” solution she’d taken earlier, and the cramps began immediately. Within a minute they had built from intermittent tugs on her guts to rapid-fire combinations of stomach punches. She would have doubled over with the pain, but the head-to-toe restraints held her firmly even as she bucked against them.
“You see, the muscle relaxants are not so effective against involuntary contractions, like those in the intestines. Is the futility of your situation becoming clear to you yet?”
Tears flowed again from the corners of the girl’s eyes, and she whimpered, but her lips remained closed. Part of her, a growing part, knew this effort was futile indeed, but the greater part still saw making a stand here as her best, maybe last, chance for freedom. For minutes that seemed like hours, she endured the torture dealt her by the involuntary responses of her own guts.
“Give her another 500 CC.” The developer could inject the pepper solution into his subject’s urinary tract, if she made it necessary, but he didn’t really want to. There was a small chance of infection and that would put her development behind schedule. Deep bowel irrigation, on the other hand, was actually helpful in ensuring his subject a good recovery from her abdominal surgeries. The anal valve opened again and more sterile, soapy water flowed into the restrained girl. Besides the barrage of heavyweight gut-punches there was a continual pain now, from the distension and from the extended period of brutal cramping.
“That’s one and a half liters now.” The doctor spoke coolly, patiently. “The tank this system draws from holds fifty liters. A little while ago you seemed upset that we’d sterilized you. Well, if you insist on continuing this ridiculous tantrum, we can easily make you look like you’re carrying triplets.” Unlike the capsicum, this threat was empty. The girl’s bowel was already holding nearly the maximum volume the doctor considered safe, given her recent surgeries. But as she writhed against the bands his experienced eyes could detect, in the softening of her expression and the growing sluggishness of her efforts, that she was breaking.
He allowed her to be punished by her own body for a few minutes longer, until he judged the moment right. “Really, my girl, time does have value. Shall I give you another half liter? Or perhaps it’s time for the pepper?” A pause.
“leeeeuhh!” A slurred, tired squeak came from the drugged lips of the dark-haired girl on the table.
“Just a moment, Twelve. What was that again?”
“Are you ready to behave sensibly?”
She didn’t want to say it. She tried just to nod, but the head restraint prevented her.
“Are you going to open your mouth wide and hold it open while I do the work that has been ordered for you?”
A pause, and another battering of cramps, like lead pipes beating on her tummy. “Yethh.”
The weeping girl looked into her doctor’s eyes. She looked for evil, for a glint of sadistic delight taken in the suffering he’d inflicted on her. All she saw was calm, and confidence, and complete control. Control over himself, over the nurse, over her, over her entire world. Which at this moment was a bright white room about 16 feet square.
“Drain it, nurse, but keep your finger on the plunger of the capsicum syringe in case she changes her mind.” It hadn’t taken long for the developer to break this display of resistance, but the girl had been considerably weakened before he’d begun – by the surgeries, the drugs, the disorientation that was typical at the start of the development process. Many of the subjects he’d worked with had not resisted at all when in such a state. He would monitor this one’s training carefully as her development progressed.
The remote-controlled valve was opened and the punishing fluid gushed out of the captive’s bowel, through a tube that ran under the table and into the floor. Even as it flowed, and the cramps slowly subsided, the developer rolled his stool next to the girl’s head and began manipulating the strange shiny brackets. They rose at either side of the confining headrest, then bent inwards toward the corners of her mouth. He looked into his subject’s wet brown eyes and at a raise of his brows she parted her lips.
“Wider,” he commanded, and slowly she gaped, while her eyes rolled toward the wall behind her restrained head to avoid seeing what new horrors were in store for her. She felt his latex-clad fingers in her mouth and thought again to bite. But fear kept her jaw propped wide, and she lay there in horror, and shame at her cowardice, as he swung the cool steel arms into her mouth. First from one side, then the other. He began adjusting the many knobs that studded the devices. She felt smooth polished metal pressing against her palate, pushing her head back firmly into the restraining headrest.
The doctor seemed to reach through the table to adjust the headrest, dropping it slightly to tilt her head a bit further back. She realized that instead of being mounted to the surface of the table as she’d visualized, the headrest projected out from it on an adjustable arm, fixing her head in position while it hung over the table’s edge. Next, she felt more metal fingers groping beneath her tongue, behind her lower front teeth. A padded, rigid cup was fitted over her chin, then bolted to the system. As the attachment was tightened, her jaw was clamped firmly to the lower arms of the strange apparatus.
“First, some measurements.” The nurse made a quiet rustle of preparations while the doctor rolled his stool into position above his subject’s head, so that he appeared upside down from her point of view and could see straight down her throat. He began turning a knob that forced her wider. The pressure grew but he continued on at a steady pace until she feared her jaw would be dislocated.
“Don’t worry, I have a torque indicator here, I’m not going to injure you.” He stopped turning the knob just before the girl was sure her head was going to be split in half, then busied himself for a while applying various calipers and rulers to the inside of her mouth. Twice she gagged when his instrument invaded the top of her vulnerable throat, but each time he removed it quickly, having obtained the needed measurement. Now and then he would turn to jot notes on her chart. Her jaw muscles began to cramp badly, and she wished she could wiggle her lifeless fingers, or her poor splinted toes, just to take her mind off her tortured mouth. But she was held utterly fast.
She thought her jaw was about to break itself against the unyielding spreader when the developer finally loosened the knob a few turns, reducing the pressure to a tolerable level. His hand reached toward the cart and returned with a large, broad-bladed forceps.
“Your tongue, please.”
She hesitated, but her tummy was still terribly sore from its battle with the cruel enema. She lifted her tongue away from the bottom of her mouth. The developer reached in with the forceps and grabbed it quickly, then adjusted his grip to center the soft appendage properly between the tool’s curved blades. Then he squeezed a bit harder and drew the girl’s tongue out of her mouth until her eyes bulged. Tiny blunt teeth on the inner surfaces of the forceps held the slippery flesh securely. The doctor used a small metal ruler to measure the width of her tongue in several places, and its extended length from the back of her teeth to the tip.
Next, still holding her tongue extended, he set the ruler down and picked up an unusual pair of chrome pliers. A small hollow cylinder projected from the inner side of one jaw; a corresponding hole waited in the opposite jaw. The frightening nurse moved into the girl’s view beside the doctor, distracting her for a moment. Quickly, the doctor double-checked that the tongue remained properly positioned within the forcep’s grasp, then aligned the post on the plier’s jaw with a set of holes in the forceps’ blades. The tool was surgically sharp and with a quick squeeze, and a squeak of pain, the girl gained a 4mm piercing not far from the tip of her tongue.
The nurse moved quickly to blot the wound with a foul-tasting unguent while the doctor continued to hold the tongue extended, and their subject quietly whimpered. She regretted bitterly her surrender to the enema. The sense of resignation she had felt minutes before was turning back again to horror and denial.
Setting down the piercing tool the doctor picked up a similar-looking device, and when the nurse had swabbed the area thoroughly he positioned it over the same hole and squeezed. The newly-pierced girl flinched but this time there was no pain, only a strange pressure that remained even after he had set the tool back on the cart.
“There, your first piercing and grommet. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He stretched her tongue out and then down, over her lower lip and toward her chin, where his other hand made a quick hidden adjustment before he released the forceps’ grasp.
The girl moaned with relief that her abused tongue had been freed, but found she could not draw it back into her mouth. When she tried there was an insistent tugging at the piercing. It took her a few moments of careful testing to figure out that her tongue had been impaled, through its new perforation, on a curved stud that projected from her chin-cup. It was kept from lifting off the stud by a metal bar – the harder she tried to pull her tongue in, the tighter the bar clamped across it. Her pierced tongue was held securely, fully extended and nearly touching the point of her chin, like a belt in a buckle.
“Aaaaaaeeeeeeiiiiiiiiuhhhh!” This small but shocking addition to her restraints was suddenly too much for the helpless co-ed. Piercing squeals erupted from her propped-open mouth, and she bucked in her restraints.
The doctor recognized in his subject a primal panic that he couldn’t reason with, but didn’t have time to wait out. “Nurse, give her the next course of tranqs now. She’s almost due anyway. But make a note that’s the last course unless I order otherwise. She needs to be alert soon, to begin her training.” The rubber-clad attendant silently injected the contents of a syringe into a port in the subject’s IV tube, and in a minute or two the noise and writhing subsided. Finally the bound victim lay still, moaning softly, flushed all over her body and covered in sweat.
“Dry her and drape her for a few minutes, we don’t want her to catch a chill.” While the nurse briskly toweled the restrained subject, the doctor stood over her face.
“You’ve got to control yourself now, we have delicate work to do here. You don’t want me to disfigure you in some unplanned way, do you?”
After drying her, the nurse draped her charge with a light blanket that covered her from collarbones to knee. By the time she was done the girl was breathing easily again, and the developer returned to his stool and resumed giving orders.
“The botox now, Twelve. I’ll need the number 8s right now and you might as well start getting the 20s ready, too. Oh, ready already? Good, I see you’re not completely incompetent.” He moved back to the cart and with the nurse made another clattering of instruments. When he rolled back to the position above his subject’s head, he was wearing a headlamp, and holding a stainless steel syringe tipped with a very long needle that looked positively enormous when held inches before his captive’s upturned face. The needle glistened in the light of his headlamp.
“Feeling more relaxed? Good. I know you’d like to rest but we have a way yet to go.” He glanced at the syringe.
“This is botox. You’ve probably heard of it as a treatment for wrinkles. What a lot of people – even some who get those treatments – don’t realize is that the name is short for ‘botulism toxin.’ It’s a powerful nerve poison, and works to eliminate wrinkles by paralyzing the muscles that pull on the skin. We use it here for that purpose, in renovating pleasure companions who are showing signs of age, but we’ve also found many other applications for it.”
The helpless girl’s brown eyes widened as he lowered the needle past her stretched tongue, past her wide-spread lips, and deep into her propped-open mouth.
“Don’t worry, this only hurts for moments….”
Chapter 3 – The Mask
No tranquilizer could completely block the fear that mounted in the pretty, bound girl as inch after inch of the needle and shiny steel syringe disappeared into her gaping mouth. Her tormentor felt her quivering, and quietly sought to calm her. “Easy, relax… It’s very important that I locate the injections precisely.”
The point of the needle must be a foot past her lips, the girl thought as she closed her eyes, unable to watch any more. Was he going to reach directly into her stomach? Then she felt a jab far down in her throat, followed by a brief burning sensation as the botox was injected. The burning faded quickly to numbness as the toxin acted on the local nerves. The series of sensations was repeated in a different spot, then another, as the doctor worked his way from deep in her throat back up towards her mouth.
“What I’m doing now…” the developer spoke in clipped phrases, in between the injections. “Is eliminating………a most undesirable, involuntary reaction…….for a girl in the role you’ll soon enjoy…….which is called……..the reaction is called, I should say……..the role I’ve already told you……the reaction is called…….the ‘gag reflex.’ There, that should do it.”
He withdrew the syringe and set it on the cart, then returned holding a telescoping metal probe with a shiny white ball on its end.
“Let’s see what we’ve got.” He extended the probe and slowly passed the soft ball into his subject’s mouth. She flinched as it pushed past her tonsils but then – nothing. The ball was just large enough to fill her throat, gently blocking it, but it produced no response as her captor slid it slowly back and forth inside her neck. She could feel its presence, except in a few dead spots, but there was no gagging or choking reaction. Her developer smiled as he withdrew the probe, and the restrained girl gasped a breath.
“That’s good, all done on the first try.” The doctor was in a chipper mood, clearly pleased with his own skills, and chattered while he leaned over the cart handling his instruments. “I’ve deadened the nerves in your throat that trigger a gagging reaction when a … foreign object is inserted. You’ll be much better at some of the most important tasks you’ll be expected to perform in your new role. The down side to this procedure is that a person would have to chew and swallow their food more carefully, to avoid choking, but that’s not going to be an issue for you.”
This was all about oral sex, the girl knew. She was not stupid, nor so innocent as to be confused by the doctor’s euphemisms. She didn’t get much direct pleasure out of giving a blowjob, but her boyfriends always seemed keen on her “hummers” and she reveled in their pleasure and especially in the approval she received from the kinder of the boys that she’d serviced that way. She liked to think she’d become fairly skilled in the act. But the image in her mind now – of a long hard cock shoved into her propped-open mouth and down her throat, where she’d just been stripped of her last defenses against the sticky goo it would pump into her belly – that was a different thing entirely from the scenario she was accustomed to, where she felt like she was the partner more in control.
The girl thought she should be sick at the vision that the rubber-ball experiment had provided of her future sexual role. But she was too overwhelmed, by this point in the session, to muster the appropriate revulsion. She determined to resist the degrading fate the evil “doctor” intended for her – as soon as she had a chance to rest.
“OK, moving right along….Twelve, let’s get her ready for the facial mapping.” Again the weird attendant glided into view. The nurse’s terrifying affect on the girl was fading – she realized that the poor creature was probably a victim herself of this “doctor” and his clinic. He spoke to the nurse not like a partner in his evil project, but like a slave. The “nurse” must have been brainwashed, or drugged, or otherwise programmed to serve at the clinic. The bound girl suddenly took pity on the rubber-sheathed attendant, and no longer saw her as an enemy.
The doctor reached up to his subject’s chin and released a catch. His latex-wrapped fingers grasped her stretched tongue at the tip, lifted it off the curved stud, and let it drop. The girl reeled it slowly in – her tongue was still sluggish from the drugs, and now numb and sore as well after its enforced extension. As the piercing passed her lower teeth she felt a click. Rubbing her tongue against her teeth she felt no projection, just flat metal around the hole. She wasn’t sure exactly what a “grommet” was but it seemed her captor had lined the piercing with metal. That must be why the bleeding had stopped so quickly, and why she had not torn her tongue when she’d panicked earlier, after it had been pinned to her chin.
The developer spun the knob that governed her gape until her lips barely touched, then raised her head back to the horizontal, in line with her torso. As he did this the nurse swabbed the girl’s face with a gauze pad that smelled of antiseptic. When they were done the doctor flipped through the aluminum chart case until he found a sheet of clear, semi-rigid plastic. As he bent it around her face, the girl saw a cutout for her nose, and many smaller holes all over the sheet. A few of them corresponded to pegs on the brackets that grasped her jaws, and the developer adjusted the spacing of the clamps until pegs and holes aligned perfectly. He checked that black Xs on the upper part of the sheet lay directly above the pupils of his subject’s brown eyes, and after wrapping the sheet around the sides of her face, that other marks lined up with landmarks on her ears. Judging that the sheet was properly registered, he used bits of surgical tape that the nurse tore off and handed him to secure it, then checked the registration again. Satisfied, he opened a drawer in the cart and took out a handful of felt-tipped pens in an assortment of colors.
“Try to keep your face as quiet and relaxed as possible,” he told the girl quietly. “Accuracy here is very important to your future appearance.”
The girl felt far past caring about her appearance. Did it matter how pretty a sex slave she became? She was close to total exhaustion, emotionally even more than physically. But, felt pens were the least frightening instruments she’d been threatened with since her awakening in this little room so many hours…or was it days….ago. It was an easy choice to conserve what energy she had left, maybe even steal a little rest. But also a part of her believed that, given the options before her, it was better to be a pretty slave than a disfigured one.
She lay passive and relaxed, staring through the blurry black Xs at the monitor overhead. The voices of resistance and resignation were both muted by her profound fatigue. The doctor began to poke the various felt pens through the holes in the sheet, covering her face with multi-colored dots.
“Hey, no sleeping yet!” The bound girl’s eyes snapped open. Had she actually been able to nod off in the middle of this bright, waking nightmare? She was so tired…
“Twelve, remove the drape, I think our girl is getting a little too comfortable!” She felt the miniature blanket drawn away toward her feet. She was naked again under the lights.
“I’m just finishing the mapping, then one more procedure before we take a break. There.” After pressing a green felt pen one last time to her face, the doctor capped it, set it down, and began peeling off the plastic template. “You were very good, and I think the mapping went very well. That makes the next phase easier. Oh, I almost forgot. From here on you get to enjoy the show!”
He rolled his stool the short distance to the wall, near the door to the little room. A flipping of switches was heard, and a small red lamp ignited on the camera mounted on the ceiling, above the bound captive. There was a flash of static on the monitor, followed by a horrifying image: the girl’s own face.
The camera was zoomed in close, so she could only see herself from the neck up. She had been right about the armature holding her head: except for the shiny band across her forehead, the support was concealed behind her so that her head appeared to be floating a few feet above the white floor, her long red-brown hair bound behind her. The bright arms of the oral restraints entered from either side of the frame, their fingers reaching between her lips, which grimaced in an unconscious effort to keep clear of the intruding steel. On the shiny chin cup that clamped her jaw tightly to the restraint system, she could see the hook on which her tongue had been briefly impaled. Her face was covered with dozens of little dots in green, red, and blue; she could make no sense of the pattern other than that it was symmetrical on both sides of her face. She looked into her own eyes, red and swollen beneath knit brows that spoke of her suffering, and her shock at the sight of herself.
The developer rolled his stool back into position alongside her, and pulled the wheeled cart a little closer. When the girl saw his hands again, one brandished a small pistol-gripped tool and the other wielded a delicate plastic syringe from which a short needle projected. “The template helped me locate various nerve junctions under your skin. But the marks I’ve made are only a guide – this tool will stimulate the nerves so I can locate them precisely. The stimulation will feel a little strange but it’s not painful, and the injections are pinpricks compared to what you’ve had already. So do yourself a favor, just stay relaxed and keep still.”
The girl locked eyes with her mirror image as the doctor moved the “gun” and needle toward her face. She looked so tired, hurt, and lost. She just wanted to get this last procedure over with. It was only a wrinkle-prevention treatment, after all, and the doctor had promised a break afterwards. And, she admitted, she didn’t want to come out of this disfigured any more than necessary. The doctor pressed the little gun against a green dot low on her forehead, and squeezed. A tiny buzz, and what felt like a sharp tap. Her brow wiggled, and on the monitor she watched her eyebrows tug further inwards.
“Yep, right where it’s supposed to be. Be still now and this should go very easily. That’s a good girl.”
She stared at the monitor, and was almost surprised that the pained girl on the screen remained motionless as the syringe approached the green dot, then pricked the skin. There was the brief, now-familiar burning of botox, and she watched as the brows on the monitor relaxed slightly. The doctor touched the gun to another dot, confirmed the presence of another nerve center, and killed it with the syringe. Again and again he repeated the procedure, working around the center of the forehead, at a few points near the temples, then began working down either side of her face. After every three injections, he changed to a full syringe; the silent nurse had quietly moved next to the cart to sanitize and refill them. A few times the nerve junction was not directly under the dot plotted on her face, and he had to grope around for it with the stimulator, but he always found the reaction he sought eventually.
Dazed by exhaustion and the drugs that flowed through her veins, the captive girl was hypnotized by the process. As the needles worked their magic and her furrowed brow was smoothed, she watched as stress, fatigue, and pain melted away. Her sensations of physical pain and emotional distress seemed to decrease in response to the easing of her expression, so powerful was the suggestion of relief conveyed by the evolving image. Like many young women she was not very confident in her appearance, so she was fascinated to see that under the pattern of dots, as fear and tension departed the face on the monitor took on a glow of…beauty.
The doctor shifted his stool to attack some nerves along her lower right jawline. “Very good…you’re being very good dear… Just a few more spots.”
She watched as the corner of her lip, which had curled back involuntarily from the cool finger of the oral restraint, slowly relaxed and embraced it. As the doctor rolled around to her left side, the girl’s focus returned to the eyes on the monitor. She saw that the relaxation of her features had continued, glacially, as nerveless muscles gradually released their tension. The expression that had appeared peaceful a few minutes before now looked vacant.
Her euphoric trance was undermined by uneasiness – the spell was breaking. Hadn’t her doctor talked about botox as a treatment for wrinkles? This seemed to be much more. How many nerves had the many injections damaged? She realized that in her growing concern she felt as though she were wrinkling her brow – but the empty face on the monitor remained unperturbed. What had he done? She tried to squint and wrinkle her nose, but saw only the smallest response. She ordered her eyes to blink, and was answered with a flutter of lashes. She tried to raise her eyebrows and that worked somewhat, but there was better response from their outer reaches than at the inner corners.
The developer, finishing his work with the last few dots along her left jaw, noticed the experiments his subject was conducting on her upper face. “Relax now, you’ve been so good…..don’t make me miss a spot right here at the end…. You’ll have plenty of time to play with your new face…..botox wrinkle treatments are generally effective for two to five years….but since we strive to deliver products….that require the least possible maintenance….I’ve given you much stronger doses…and located them precisely at the proper junctions.” Having completed the last injections he straightened on his stool, and looked down at his handiwork.
“Given the typical lifespan for pleasure companions, this treatment is effectively permanent.”
Eyes that belonged to a bright, mildly insecure, exhausted and horrified student-athlete stared up at an image that was barely familiar. The girl who stared back from the video screen was calm, carefree, and….vapid.
Even at rest, sinews in the girl’s cheeks that had been left intact put gentle tension on her lips. Unopposed by the now paralyzed muscles along the lower jaw, they tugged the corners of her mouth slightly upwards, around the metal fingers of the oral clamps.
In the hard steel grip of its fearsome restraints, the pretty, pleasant face was smiling.
Chapter 4 – Visions
“Nurse, get her cleaned up. I need some images for marketing.”
The developer began turning knobs on the oral restraints while the silent, latex-garbed nurse again swabbed their bound subject’s face with an alcohol-soaked pad. On the ceiling monitor the captive watched as the colored dots were wiped away, along with a few specks of blood. The steel claws of the jaw clamps were released and swung back. At last her face was clean and free – except for the shiny steel band across her forehead, which held her firmly in the sculpted headrest. It felt wonderful to flex her jaw, and to feel blood rush back into the parts of her gums that had been compressed by the clamps while the doctor had done his work. Apparently the deep-seated muscles that operated her jaw had been unaffected by the botox treatment.
“There, isn’t that a pretty girl? Except for your eyes, so red and cranky. Soon we’ll cauterize the capillaries that make your eyes so puffy, but we usually wait to do the eyes until a subject’s been vended and the client specifies what style he’d prefer. For now, I have some drops that will clear you up.” He unscrewed a dropper-top from a small glass bottle and let stinging droplets fall into the wet brown eye of his captive subject. After the first set of drops warned her of the sting, he had to use his fingers to pry the lids of her other eye open while he administered the drops.
After a few moments the stinging began to fade and the girl opened her eyes again, blinking rapidly to clear them. On the monitor she saw the redness and swelling had diminished. Immediately she began to test the features of her face, to see how much damage the botox had done.
The same dopey little smile remained that she had first seen when in the grip of the oral restraints. She could expand the smile, but to frown or even maintain a neutral expression seemed impossible. She could pucker or pout her lips – in fact those motions came more naturally than in her prior life, and her pucker was now almost cartoonish – but she could not curl the lips back from her teeth. Her jaw worked fine, and she could blink her eyes – though the lids seemed to flap in odd detachment from their surroundings. She could not wrinkle her brow in fret, nor lower it in anger. When she tried to raise her eyebrows as though in fear, only the outer corners responded. Rather than conveying fright, the resulting expression resembled the arched “bad girl” stare of some black-and-white movie goddess.
Finally she relaxed and considered the face at rest. It belonged to a silly young tease: free of care, simple-minded, playful. That was the mask she would wear for the rest of her life.
The result of the carefully targeted botox overdosing was, in a sense, a horrifying disfigurement. But looking up at her new face the girl could not say that the treatment had left her scarred. In fact quite the opposite: the banishment of worry and fear from her face allowed a natural beauty to shine through as it seldom had before. Inside she felt abused and mutilated, but on the monitor her face looked relaxed, and pretty.
She noticed the red light on the overhead camera had been blinking.
“That was great – marketing will be able to cull a lot of good stills from that sequence.” The developer paused to tap some keys on a computer terminal outside the girl’s field of vision. “I’ve sent that last clip along. The boys in marketing will pick a few choice stills and use them, along with some computer-generated interpretations of what your body will look like when your mods are complete, to illustrate your notice of availability. That notice will be distributed very discretely, to previous clients of ours and to others who have been qualified as recipients. Shortly, based on those images and our report on your various measurements and potentials, you’ll be put up for auction. If you find a buyer at that time, he’ll be able to specify the rest of your modifications, and many details of your appearance.”
“I say ‘if you find a buyer,’ because the reserve price is set quite high for these pre-completion auctions. Many subjects don’t find a buyer at this stage. We complete those projects according to our own judgement and offer them for auction again after completion, and it’s possible that’s how it could go for you. But based on the performance you just gave and your physical potential, my guess is you’ll be one of the lucky ones who becomes a truly ‘custom’ pleasure companion.”
“Now, the client who makes a pre-completion purchase from our clinic gets to choose from a wide variety of options for his new toy. To help him choose – him or her, I should say: the great majority of our clients are male but we are an equal-opportunity vendor – to help them choose we use proprietary software to morph your features into an approximation of how the various options would look when stretched over your unique bone structure. I can tap into that program right here on your monitor – let me show you the possibilities.”
The developer tapped out a long series of keystrokes and the live image of the girl’s face snapped out. After a pause another image zoomed in, of a naked 3-dimensional female figure with arms outstretched and legs slightly spread. Most of the figure was portrayed in a generic, peachy “flesh” color, but as the view zoomed in the girl saw that her own face was superimposed on it – the new version of her face, with its wide eyes and mindless grin.
The proportions of the generic figure matched her image of her own body in some ways, but not others. She saw the wide hips she cursed her mother for, and the boyishly broad shoulders. But the waist was too narrow, the legs too trim. Her muscle tone looked good – recalling to her mind all those hours in the pool and the gym. But her big hips and shoulders and those silly boobs…what a cow she was.
“Skin Palettes, ok, Caucasian, here we go…”
Except for the face, the body on the monitor became pale, almost bluish white, with prominently pink nipples. “No, no….I’ll just scroll through the options.” In rapid succession the figure’s flesh tone changed from pallid to ebony to sallow, with stops in between at blushing white, brown, and California tan. Finally the doctor found a tone close to that of the girl’s superimposed face: light olive, like generations of her ancestors who had walked under the Mediterranean sun. Her nipples became light brown, the short-cropped and bikini-waxed fuzz about her private parts, dark.
“Good. This is a simulation based on how you appeared when we acquired you, modified to show how your various changes should look after swelling is reduced, dressings are removed, and etcetera.” The girl glanced at the figure’s feet, and noted they pointed straight down. They appeared too narrow and delicate, especially in contrast with her shapely athletic legs. Her gaze shot to the figure’s wide-spread arms. Her own remained numb and unresponsive – for all she knew, they might have been amputated. But the computer-generated figure retained all four limbs.
“Mah ahhmms…” Her partially paralyzed lips made it difficult to form words, and she still struggled with the various drugs as well.
“What was that?” Her doctor seemed surprised by his subject’s sudden effort at speech.
“Mah ahhmms. Wasss rung wit mah ahhmms.”
“Oh, your arms. We have performed several procedures that will affect your arms. We’ve taken the precaution of numbing them more thoroughly than the rest of your body, to protect them while they heal. But rest assured they’re still attached to your body.”
“Now then, here is how you’ll look when the mods we’ve already begun are completed.” At the tap of a key, the figure’s breasts began to swell, and its waist shrank. The captive girl’s eyes bugged as the boobs inflated like balloons. When the growth stopped, each of the monstrous mams was twice as big as the figure’s – her own – head. Their bottoms came down almost to her bellybutton and the sides projected well outside the frame of her ribcage. Her waist, just visible below the shaded 3-D jugs, had shrunk to a disproportionately small diameter. The torso of the modified figure was reduced to a collection of plump curved shapes: the two enormous boobs most prominently, joined at the pinched waist to the wide oval pelvic area.
“This is what we mean by ‘fantasy’ pleasure companion. Some of our clients use our talents to replicate female celebrities, or ex-wives. Be thankful you’re not a candidate for that latter role! You have been chosen by our staff, because of your natural potential, to be remade into an idealized female form.”
“See how your wide shoulders distribute the weight of those enormous tits? The skinny girls you were so jealous of when your sorority went clothes shopping in the city – yes, we were watching – those skinny girls couldn’t carry that kind of volume as gracefully. And look there: you have the hips of a fertility goddess. The computer hasn’t altered them at all, they just stand out a little better in this image because we’ve tucked in your waist and thighs a bit.”
The doctor looked into her face and added with apparent sincerity: “You were born for this role, my girl. It’s lucky we found you.”
The mind of the helplessly bound, tortured, and completely exhausted captive was far past processing all this with anything like logic or reason. A strange brew of thoughts and emotions bubbled in her head as she looked up at the image of what she was to become. From the playful bimbo’s face through the ultravoluptuous curves to the tiny delicate feet, the vision was horrible, perverse….but sexy as hell. It exaggerated the very features she’d tried so hard – through dress, exercise and diet, posture – to conceal….but celebrated them, too. Her conscious mind recoiled at the image, but she couldn’t deny that far back in the attic of her brain, she felt a tingle of excitement in the notion of men bidding for her, competing with each other over this ideal female.
With an effort of will, the girl closed her eyes against her future. She was no goddess. She was a wide-hipped girl from the suburbs. She was good at math, and swimming, and wanted to be a schoolteacher. This “doctor” and his associates might cut and inject her, but she was still herself. At least for a little longer.
“Don’t you want to see the menu of mods available for you? So far the program is only displaying the few treatments our staff has already begun for you. It can also simulate the variety of detail treatments that your buyer might specify. Or would you rather be surprised?” The girl opened her moist brown eyes again to take in her possible futures. One thing she did not want was to be surprised by whatever further changes were performed upon her body.
“OK, I have no idea where you might be vended, so I’ll just start a slide show of the various treatments that might be selected. That should keep you entertained while I leave you alone here with your nurse for a bit. Twelve is efficient enough in her duties, but not very good company. I’ll be back again later to check on you.”
He turned to the trim, silent nurse. “Nurse, all the subject’s requirements are on the chart. After cleaning her up she’s due for a topical breast treatment, and it’s time for the basic wiring setup. I should be back before you’re finished.” After tapping some keys on the computer terminal he left the room, humming a cheerful tune.
While the nurse busied herself with some preparations, the captive girl watched as the image on the monitor zoomed to a closeup of her feet which were pointed down, nearly in line with her lower legs. She could see now why they looked so small: there were only four toes – the big toe and three of the smaller ones – and the foot itself had been narrowed proportionately. It was very neat work and no scars were visible, at least in the computer image. She wondered what her own poor, complaining feet looked like now, inside their casts or splints or whatever it was that held them rigid, outside her restricted field of vision.
As the girl watched with dreadful fascination, the feet on the monitor oozed into a completely new shape, the toes merging into a single heavy pad, like a hoof. Then the toes divided again, but folded underneath while the feet shrank into misshapen clubs – like those of a Chinese concubine, bound from youth. Suddenly the feet disappeared completely, leaving her calves abbreviated at neat padded stumps. Next, steel hardware faded into view at the stumps, connectors perhaps that might be used to mount some kind of prosthetics to the ends of her legs. Finally the delicate, four-toed feet that belonged to some fetishized ballerina faded back into view. The camera zoomed out and panned up, so that her legs became visible from thigh tops to toes.
Gasping through her mesh-covered breathing port, the rubberized nurse approached the table carrying a small plastic tub. She lifted a wet sponge from it with her gloved hand, and began bathing the bound girl from head to toe. She rubbed briskly and purposefully, but not roughly, and the warm cleansing solution relaxed the captive victim as it wiped away sweat and spatter that had accumulated during the previous session. When the nurse was done she toweled the girl thoroughly, then draped her again with a blue shoulder-to-knee blanket.
Clicking smoothly back and forth across the room in what the prisoner visualized as very high heels, the nurse retrieved a jar from a cabinet on the wall and stood over the her charge’s head. The weird masked face appeared upside down to the girl as the bulbous mirrored “eyes” looked down on her. The nurse reached into the jar and brought out dabs of white lotion, which she massaged firmly into the captive’s face.
I always wanted to go to one of those fancy spas, the girl thought with bitter irony.
She missed long stretches of the slide show while the nurse tended her, but glimpsed some strange images in moments when the black rubber hands didn’t block her view. Apparently amputation of her legs at the knee, or even right under her butt, were possibilities that she faced. She saw her hips expanded to hippopotamus size, and her waist reduced to a few inches in diameter.
At one point the nipples on her enormous jugs stretched and thickened until she had the teats of a milk cow. Then, impossibly, each thumb-sized teat split into four and her boobies became udders. When the nipples shrank again they didn’t stop at a normal size but retracted into her boobs, leaving holes that stretched vertically and grew flabby lips at their sides. Instead of nipples each of her giant boobs now featured a little bald pussy. She watched all this detachedly – it was impossible to believe these bizarre abominations might actually be inflicted upon her.
After completing the facial the nurse drew the blanket down off the girl’s breasts, and began applying to them a lotion from another jar that she’d taken from the wall cabinet. This treatment created a sensation of warmth, like a milder form of a heating cream that the girl had applied once to a sprained ankle. As the nurse slowly massaged the warming lotion into her boobies, the girl began to feel something like pleasure, and became deeply relaxed……..
“Gaaahh!” She snapped suddenly awake again as sharp pain from her boobs penetrated the fog of drugs and fatigue. The nurse was still standing over her, the protruding mirrored “eyes” looking down into her face, but had stopped the massage and was pinching and twisting her nipples – hard. The restrained prisoner fluttered her lashes to prove she was awake – after a moment the nurse relaxed her grip, then resumed rubbing the warming cream into the flesh of her firm boobs.
The girl understood that she was not to sleep. The doctor had promised a break after the botox masking procedure, and he had kept his promise – for himself.
Why won’t they just let me sleep? the exhausted captive thought as her eyes filled again with tears. Then she remembered: sleep deprivation is a tool for interrogation. They were trying to wear her down, probably brainwash her. How could she fight it? She tried to fill her mind with thoughts of happy times she’d spent with family and friends. But in this strange place those memories seemed distant and difficult to call forth with any vividness, as though her captivity had already lasted four years instead of a little over four days.
She tried harder, concentrating on the pleasant memory of the previous Summer’s family vacation. The nurse had stepped away from the table to work with some equipment, and the girl risked closing her eyes to focus on recalling that happy time. She remembered the cozy little cabin in the mountains, walking through green meadows, singing songs around a fire, watching meteors flash across the starry black sky. She could almost feel the pine-scented breeze in her hair.
Then, as she visualized walking along a sunny creek-side trail she felt pain in her feet. She realized the people around her in this daydream – or had she fallen asleep again? – her mother, her younger brother, his friend who’d come along, were looking at her strangely.
She felt self-conscious, and reached up to touch her face. It felt stiff and numb. She looked down at herself, and she was naked. Her boobies were huge, projecting in front of her so that she couldn’t see her toes. She tried to cover herself, but her hands stopped working and fell useless at her sides. The boys were pointing and laughing at her. She looked to her mother for pity and understanding, but was met with a look of utter revulsion…
Back in the little white room the girl felt rubber fingers on her nipple, and her eyes sprang open. Tears ran freely down her cheeks, and she sobbed.
Could she ever go back? Even if she escaped, or was rescued, she would be a freak. No one could ever look at her the same way again. The girl’s pious mother had warned that her hunger for the attention and approval of boys would lead her into a life of sin. It seemed that mother had been right, even if she’d never imagined the depths of degradation to which her little girl might be drawn.
The overhead image was zoomed in on her face, her dim-witted new doll’s face, and suddenly the girl saw in it a true reflection of her lack of wisdom, her weak character. Wondering what it was she’d done, specifically, that had led her to this plight, she returned her attention to the screen with a combination of dread, morbid curiosity, and resignation. She watched as her thick, curly, reddish-brown hair faded away to reveal a smooth bald scalp, then returned again. Her brown eyes grew slowly until they were huge and glassy, like a Japanese cartoon. When they shrank again, they kept narrowing until they disappeared completely, and the eyelids flattened out as though stretched over empty sockets.
Her nose erupted like Pinocchio’s – if Pinocchio had a ten-inch dildo for a nose – and despite her condition the girl had to laugh at the ridiculous sight. Then she recalled her doctor had said that some of his clients were women. She imagined being buried to the eyeballs in funky female pubic hair, and the dildo-nose didn’t seem funny anymore. Her nose shrank again and morphed through many sizes and shapes, before receding back into her skull to leave a puffy bald pussy in its place, complete with a little clitoris right between her eyes.
She wondered how long it would take for her to go insane.
The nurse was pasting the last of a half-dozen small wired pads around the girl’s forehead when the door swung open with a bang and her developer returned.
“OK, how are we doing? I see Twelve has done a thorough job with your skin treatments. Now let’s get a look at those feet.”
He snapped on fresh gloves and touched his subject’s pained toes. On the ceiling monitor the lips of her computer-generated twin were inflating into pink bananas, but she focused her attention on the doctor’s unseen explorations. He began peeling tape and dressings from her feet, and the girl was surprised to gather from the touch of his fingers on her bare skin that her feet were apparently not casted or otherwise bound.
“Nurse, lets get her cleaned up here.” The attendant began swabbing the feet with something that stung. At the tips of her toes and along the outsides of her feet the gentle dabs brought sparks of fresh hot pain.
“You’re coming along very well here. No more weeping from the wounds and the swelling is going down nicely. Nurse, get her wired for the electrostimulator.” He stood and returned his attention to the girl. “That will feel a little funny – people say it’s like something crawling on your skin. But electrostim greatly accelerates the healing of bone and connective tissues, so it’ll help you get back on your feet much more quickly.” Doctor and nurse worked together to paste sticky pads to the girl’s feet, and she heard the snap of plugs being fitted into electronic sockets.
“I see the slide show has ended. So our timing is perfect, it’s time to flip you.” Without warning he pulled a pair of mechanical catches below the table, and lifted it at the head end. The well-balanced apparatus rotated easily, and the girl bound within spun 160 degrees forward until she was looking down toward the floor, her head still slightly above her feet. The rigid bands that had held her firmly to the table now carried her weight. There were enough of them, adequately padded and strategically located, so that the load was distributed and her restraint remained reasonably comfortable. Her long hair had been bound behind her neck, but the wires from the pads the nurse had stuck around her forehead now dangled to either side of her face. The slim, silent nurse quickly checked each of the supporting bands, pads and connectors, making adjustments here and there to be certain all was in order.
“We need to change your position at intervals so you don’t get bedsores, or other complications that come from being held too long in one position. Your bed here is designed to facilitate this, so we can keep you here pretty much indefinitely, or at least as long as we need to during your physical recovery and training. Now, one more little thing, and we’ll leave you to rest.”
“Nurse, do you have the MES ready? 200 CC each? Good.” Staring nearly at the floor now, the girl’s ability to see what happened around her was even more restricted. The doctor’s shiny leather shoes appeared next to her. The hem of his white coat dipped, telling her he was bending to examine her right side. She felt some fumbling at a sore point she’d sensed at the front of her right armpit, then a sensation of growing tightness and weight in her breast. He was inflating her with the liquid plastic.
“We like to do these injections with the subject in the prone position because that allows more even tension across the skin, and the fewest stretch marks.” He disconnected what the girl imagined to be a large syringe and moved to her left side. “These injections are 200 CC each. As your breasts expand we’ll increase the size of each injection. The rubdown Twelve gave your titties earlier – did you enjoy that? – that was a compound we’ve developed which encourages the growth of new skin. It’s all part of our integrated expansion technique, which is the most advanced in the world. There,” he concluded, disconnecting the second syringe. Her boobs felt taut and heavy.
“Mix them up for her, Twelve.” The girl saw an pair of black, high-heeled, calf-high boots enter her field of view. The needle-like heels must have been 6 inches tall, and the boot tops were bound with rows of tight-buckled straps. The trim legs that rose out of the boots were clad in baggy, shiny latex.
The nurse stood directly above her head and bent over her, so that the white outer uniform brushed her subject’s head. She reached forward and under the girl’s chest, cupped a hanging tit in each gloved hand and shook them gently, allowing the sensitive skin to bump and slide within her clawed fingers. Then she kneaded the tight, plump boobs, lightly but taking care to work the entire surface. None of this treatment was painful, but the strapped girl blushed at the violation, at her utter helplessness to defend the dignity of her own body. Finally the nurse finished the massage and stepped back.
“I’m going to turn the electrostim on now.” A switch was flipped, and the suspended girl felt the promised creepy-crawlies all over her feet and ankles. “The sensors on your head monitor your brain activity, information that we’ll use in many ways throughout your training. Tonight their only purpose is to monitor your sleep, and make sure you’re properly prepared to begin your real training the next time I see you.”
“We’ve had a very productive first session! You probably won’t sleep very well, but try not to think too hard about all that’s happened, and get some rest. You still have a lot of healing to do.”
The room lights dimmed until the girl could barely see the white tile floor, a few feet from her face. Two sets of footsteps clicked and clacked away from the girl, until they were cut off by the bang of the closing door. It was quiet, and nearly dark.
Despite her pain and distress, the first thing the girl thought of was sleep. She had begun the day already worn down by her recent surgeries, and the emotional shocks and physical trials she’d endured had tapped her last reserves of energy. She was ashamed at how she’d surrendered to the demands of her captor, at how close she’d already come to giving up hope for escape or rescue. But she had just been too tired to resist. If she could manage even a few hours of sleep, maybe she could be stronger tomorrow. She did not like the sound of “training,” but she pushed fears of the future out of her mind as she closed her eyes.
Bound upside down in this mad scientist’s laboratory, in pain from shoulder to toe, perforated with piercing and IVs and injection ports and feeling as though she wore socks stuffed with bugs, the girl fell asleep almost immediately.
A loud, grating sound filled the girl’s head, and the room lights flashed. She awoke slowly, stunned and sluggish. What happened? It was dark again. She closed her eyes and drifted off once more…
Again the flashing lights and penetrating sound. They weren’t going to let her sleep! But he’d promised! He’d told her she should! Maybe it was just some kind of electrical short……..
“No, you haf to let meh thleep! He thed ah could thleep!” The immobilized girl cried out to the empty room, and wept, her tears making little splatters on the tile floor.
In fact her developer was allowing her to sleep. She did need rest to speed her healing, and he did not want to delay her recovery any more than necessary. Time is money after all, in the production of pleasure companions as in any venture.
But rapid-eye movement sleep was another matter. REM is the stage of sleep during which dreams occur, memories are organized, and most of the “re-charging” of the mind that’s associated with restful nights occurs. The developer had set the brainwave monitor and room systems to watch for the telltale patterns of REM, and awaken the girl when they were detected. When her next session began his subject would have recovered somewhat physically, while remaining nearly as exhausted mentally as she had been at the start of the rest period. She would be well prepared for the next steps in her transformation.
Chapter 5 – Making a Stand
The overhead lights flickered back to life again, accompanied this time by the bang of the swinging door and the click of heels. A long string of drool trailed from the girl’s slack lower lip toward a puddle of saliva and tears on the floor. Wordlessly, the nurse bent and mopped up the mess. When the floor was spotlessly clean again she set a plastic tub below the captive’s downturned face. A check of the bands, a change of the IV bag, and the tall black boots moved away from the inverted table. Silently, the urine valve opened and the girl moaned quietly with relief. The nurse’s tall heels clicked out the door, and the lights dimmed again.
The night dragged on – if night in fact it was. The naked, inverted prisoner realized she had no way of judging the time from inside her sterile white cell. Eight hours or eighty, her resting time seemed to drag on forever, punctuated by the forced awakenings and more brief visits from the nurse.
At first it seemed she was awakened every few minutes by the lights and loud buzz. But soon her body learned what depth of sleep was allowed it and she dozed lightly for longer stretches, at times half aware of herself cruising just below the surface of wakefulness. After a while her body felt saturated with sleep, though her brain was still dull and it took an effort to focus her thoughts. When she could no longer sleep and had tired of weeping, she passed tedious hours practicing how to form words with her newly-impaired lips.
The dosage of drugs administered to her had been reduced, which combined with the rest left the girl feeling much stronger physically. The tranquilizers had been cut off completely, and fear weighed on her more heavily than during her first session with the developer. But she was angry, too, both at what had been done to her and at herself for her weakness. Despite the lingering mental fatigue she was determined to resist the mad “doctor,” and the process being methodically applied to her. She looked forward to his return – she had been practicing some choice words for her doctor and was eager to tell him what she thought of him and his clinic.
Once again the rapid clicking footsteps of the spike-heeled nurse entered the room. The electrostimulator was shut down, and the swarms of imaginary ants disappeared from the girl’s feet. Again she felt the silent wave of relief that accompanied the release of urine from her plugged bladder. After fumbling for a moment with some tools the nurse approached her right side. The captive subject felt rubber fingers groping for the injection port at her armpit, and a soft click as the syringe was connected.
“Don’t do dat! Please, don’t help dem!”
The nurse never hesitated, and as she slowly pressed the plunger the girl felt tightness build again in her swelling breast, which had relaxed somewhat during the resting time. She sighed, having expected her plea would go unanswered. She was sure the masked nurse was a brainwashed slave of the clinic, and could not blame her for what she did. As the injection was repeated at her left side, she sensed the new weight in her growing boobs and wondered how large they were now. Prevented by the restraints from tilting her head downwards, she could only guess. But when the nurse reached under her to agitate their liquid plastic filling, the girl could tell that they had already grown to be larger than comfortable handfuls.
The nurse threw levers at the back of the table and flipped the girl backwards till she was staring up again, into the lights and the now darkened video screen. “Twelve” stood over her and again massaged the warming skin-growth lotion into her breasts. It was a strange sensation, the greased rubber fingers gliding over nerve-rich skin that was stretched tight over the plastic-filled bubbles. The girl felt a tingle of pleasure as the fingers worked around her nipples, stirring guilt at first, but then she surrendered to it. The nurse was not her enemy – why not take a break from this nightmare and enjoy a moment? Her lids grew heavy but she remembered not to close her eyes.
When the thorough breast massage was complete the nurse began releasing the rigid, padded bands that restrained the girl, and had recently supported her weight. One at a time, she opened the bands, kneaded the flesh firmly at each point where it had been compressed, and massaged the skin with lotion before replacing the restraint and checking it for security. Never was more than one of the many bands that held her released, so the girl didn’t even consider trying to escape. As the nurse worked along the several bands that constrained her arms, the girl became aware that the faintest sensations were returning to her upper limbs, though they remained paralyzed. The last band to be released was the one that crossed the girl’s forehead. The nurse rested two rubber-clad fingers lightly on her subject’s eyelids while she released the headband, used her free hand to massage the skin under the strap with lotion, and then replaced the restraint.
Again the catches were flipped and the table raised at the head, stopping this time when the captive leaned a few degrees back from upright. The girl had her best view yet of her cell, and hungry eyes scanned about taking in various cabinets, the rolling cart and stool, some button-studded panels on the wall. There was nothing to indicate where she might be, other than a generic hospital room. No signs written in a foreign language, no window, no clock that she could see.
The nurse approached her with a wet sponge and moistened the girl’s involuntary, doll-like smile. It felt wonderful! Then she brought a lidded plastic cup with a flexible straw, and presented it to her charge’s lips.
At first the girl hesitated, and stared into the nurse’s bulbous silver eyes doubtfully. But why, after going to all this trouble, would they poison her? Her lips reached forward and grasped the straw. She took a little sip – it was fresh, cool water, her first real drink in days, and the girl knew she’d never tasted anything better. Her lips clamped tight around the straw, and she eagerly sucked down the entire cup, soaking her parched mouth and throat.
The nurse set down the cup and returned with a strange plastic device. From a curved plate about the size of a woman’s palm, a hollow-tipped cone projected. Behind the plate the nurse grasped a round bulb; white ribbons hung from either side of the plate. The girl only got a quick look at the device before the nurse touched the tip of the cone to her lips.
Again she hesitated, her mouth closed tight. The nurse squeezed the bulb, and a dollop of paste oozed from the cone onto the girl’s lips. She sampled it carefully with her tongue. It was thick, smooth, and a little salty. Fine cuisine it was not, but there was nothing foul about it. She swallowed the dab of paste and the nurse squeezed a larger blob between her lips. The girl rolled the paste around her mouth – it was so wonderful to eat something, anything, after how many days taking all her nourishment via the IV. As the second dollop slid down her throat, her stomach grumbled and her dormant hunger awakened with a vengeance. She opened her jaws a little wider and sucked on the tip of the cone, begging for more of the salty paste.
The nurse squeezed the bulb again lightly, sending a small blob into the eager mouth, then pushed the tip of the cone between her subject’s teeth. Surprised, the girl tried to bite down but the cone was hard and slippery, and once the hollow point had passed her teeth there was little she could do to prevent its entry. The nurse leaned into it, and the penetrating cone spread the girl’s jaws wider until her front teeth clicked into grooves at its base and the curved plate touched her lips. The nurse held the device in place while she used the white straps to secure it to either side of the headrest. When she stepped back, the girl groped with her tongue for some purchase, tried to shake her head or do anything to force this new violator out of her mouth. She could not; she was securely gagged.
The door banged open and two sets of footsteps entered. One belonged to her “doctor.”
“Good morning! Have a good night? You’re looking very well.”
“Ukk ooh!” was all the girl could force past the plastic feeding gag, a tiny scrap of the elaborate curses she’d practiced so carefully for this reunion.
“That’s not very nice, after all the care and expense we’ve taken with you?” Her doctor really looked disappointed.
“The facial treatments, the bathing, everything we can do to keep you healthy and comfortable. I’d hoped you’d be happy to be eating again. That feeder will remain connected for a while so you can take your ration at your own pace. Just in little squirts – you still have to get used to swallowing without a gag reflex.” The nurse was replacing the IV bag on the metal stand with another clear bag, this one filled with the brownish-gray paste. A finger’s-width tube dangled from the bag; she snapped the free end to the back of the feeder and squeezed the bulb a few times to draw the pureed food into the tube.
Still angry, but also terribly hungry, the girl could not resist testing the connection. A firm suction applied to the gag delivered another dollop of the paste, now directly to the back of her mouth where she was forced to swallow it immediately. Another pull, another swallow. The developer watched as she pulsed her cheeks like a baby sucking slowly on a giant pacifier, and smiled again.
“Good! Now let me introduce you to another member of your development team.” He beckoned and the set of footsteps that had entered beside his own thumped into view. They belonged to a huge, thick-bodied female, clad in baggy green “scrubs” that draped awkwardly over her lumpy torso. This new member of the “team” was much taller and broader than the nurse, larger even than the developer who the girl could see now was not a big man. The barrel-shaped, remarkably unfeminine body was topped with a puffy round face, and short-cropped, dirty blonde hair.
“This is Ruta, your physical therapist. It’s her job to maintain and improve your flexibility while you’re confined here, and eventually when you’re ready she’ll train you in things like how to walk properly on your pretty new feet, and how to make the best use of your arms. You’re going to cooperate with her, aren’t you?”
The girl had stopped sucking on the gag and now stared over it at the developer, her nostrils flaring as she breathed deeply. She was filled with fear but struggled to muster her resolve. “Go do ell, oo….ahtahd!”
The developer stepped close, and spoke quietly. “Now, don’t tell me you’re going to make another silly scene. Remember how uncomfortable that was for you the last time? Do you really want to go down that road again?” The girl just puffed at him, holding her stare. In her mind she scowled, forgetting that her face no longer obeyed such commands.
“Or would you rather see a new trick?” The doctor reached toward her face with both hands. With one he pushed the curved plastic plate firmly against her lips, the other pinched her nostrils. His victim’s eyes widened as she realized her air was cut off.
“You see how simple a thing it is? If you prove to be stubborn and untrainable, it’s such a small matter to dispose of you. What a waste that would be, though, of your natural gifts. Really, you have so many of the qualities that make a fine pleasure companion. I doubt there’s a career for which you’re better suited. Won’t you reconsider?” He released his grip on the flushing captive’s nose, and she snorted the air. He gave her a few seconds to reflect.
She stared at him again. Somewhere a last reservoir of adrenaline was tapped, anger overcame fear, and an unfamiliar courage flowed within her.
The developer closed her airways again.
“Such a silly girl. What do you think, that you can escape? How do you dream of managing that? Or that you can hold out until you’re rescued? I’d forget about that, too. When you were recruited our agents emptied your bank account, stole some of your favorite clothes and planted evidence on your computer that you were thinking about dropping out, moving to California. Your credit card was used to purchase a plane ticket, and a few meals in LA. People may be looking for you, but thousands of miles from where you actually are. In a few months you’ll be written off as just another of the thousands of pretty, unhappy young women who fall through the cracks.”
The girl was beet red before the developer let her take a few deep breaths, her chest straining against the bands that crossed it. Tears flowed from her now-closed eyes and rolled down her flushed cheeks.
They were too organized, she thought, too ruthless. It was hopeless. She hoped he would smother her now, and end this nightmare.
Obligingly, the developer clamped her nose again. His face was inches from hers as he spoke quietly and calmly. “It’s silly to think you can resist us. This is our business, which we’ve managed successfully for many years. Many women stronger and smarter than you have challenged us, and we’ve always won. Always, one way or another. Have you wondered how Nurse Twelve came to be as she is? Listen to her story.” He loosened his grip and allowed his writhing subject two more snorting breaths – he wanted her awake to hear the tale.
“Twelve was once a beautiful cosmetics model, no one famous you’d be likely to recognize but very beautiful, and she caught the eye of one of our wealthy clients. He contracted with us to recruit and convert her into a pleasure companion for himself. Those types of jobs, where the subject is selected purely for physical traits rather than trainability, are always risky. Well, Twelve turned out to be a real hellcat. She resisted at every opportunity, and even managed to injure one of our attendants.”
Blue veins were popping out of the girl’s throat and forehead. Her torturer allowed her a bit more air, his experienced hands holding her at a level of desperate, heightened consciousness.
“But what did all that struggle bring her? Not freedom, only a lot of pain and suffering she could have easily avoided. By resisting one of her cosmetic procedures Twelve caused her own face to be disfigured. The client lost interest in her, and bought out of the contract. We tried some radical new treatments, hoping to restore her face to marketable condition. We learned a lot from those experiments, but unfortunately for Twelve the new treatments were proven to be… not yet perfected. But she continued to fight! Finally we turned her over to our neurologist. After some poking around he was able to make physical changes to her brain that have rendered her, if not marketable, at least useful. She’s one of our few failures – if you consider such an efficient assistant a failure.”
The girl was turning purple, her eyes rolling back in her head as her writhing weakened.
“You see, my dear, there are many possibilities besides cooperation, and death.” The developer released his grip and life-saving air rushed into his subject’s lungs. He let her breathe deeply for a while.
When he was sure she was fully alert he touched the tip of her nose, lightly, and stared into her flushed, tear-stained, inappropriately cheerful face.
“There are many possibilities, but only one choice, for you: cooperation, and acceptance of the role that’s been assigned you. If you reject that, then all the other choices are ours.” He paused and stepped back, wiping his fingers with a towel. “Most pleasure companions find their new role tolerable, at least compared to the other possibilities, and more than a few find it enjoyable and satisfying. So what will it be for you?”
The gagged captive’s nostrils still flared with the effort to make up for lost breaths. She had been ready to die rather than go along with the doctor’s depraved intentions for her. But she looked at the slim, silent nurse, standing robotically erect in her latex uniform and gasping through the breathing port in her horrible mask, and knew there were fates worse than death. Unable to voice her submission, the girl raised her red-rimmed eyes to the meet the developer’s, then slowly lowered them again.
He watched her carefully for a while before accepting her capitulation. “Good! Very good! All girls have foolish ideas sometimes but I think you’re going to turn out just fine. I’ll leave you with Ruta, then. Cooperate with her, and you’ll find she gives an excellent massage.”
The developer turned to the heavyset, beady-eyed therapist. “I don’t think she’ll give you any trouble. Just the legs for now. The arms have to stay immobilized a while longer and she still has some healing to do through the midsection. OK?”
“Da!” the big, crew-cut woman said sharply. “Just legs. I start easy with pretty girl.”
“Yes, start easy. You’ll have plenty of time with her.” He began to leave, then stopped at the door and turned to the masked, programmed nurse. “Twelve, when Ruta is finished check the chart and do what needs to be done. Bye for now.” He directed the last farewell toward his subject and exited with a bang.
The brutish therapist walked slowly to stand close in front of the captive, who still stared downwards in despair. A heavy, thick-fingered hand brushed the bound girl’s brow, and her eyes swiveled up to meet the dough-faced woman’s gaze. The prisoner was suspended upright with her downward-pointing toes some inches above the floor, but the green-clad, sneaker-shod giant still looked slightly down at her.
“Yesss, pretty girl for sure. You no make trouble, no problem for you. My job not to hurt you, therapy is good for body. But if you make trouble, like for doctor…” Vise-like fingers suddenly crushed the captive’s nipple, bringing a whine of pain from behind the gag.
“If you make trouble, maybe you no enjoy therapy so much. Eh?”
Ruta smiled, and gently stroked her subject’s brow. She seemed to wait for a reply, but bound and gagged the girl could neither nod nor answer. She just stared, wide eyed, as fresh fears of unspeakable new violations flooded her and washed away the previous terrors.
“Da! We begin.” The big, ugly woman said suddenly as she moved around the elevated table, popped its catches and laid the girl down flat again.
“First time we go easy, like doctor say. If I push too hard, you say. Well, you gagged, but make noise. But don’t be chicken! We have to push a little or it’s no good. No pain no gain, you know.” The therapist laid a bear’s paw firmly on the girl’s right ankle, just above the zone of pain that encompassed her feet. She unplugged the electrostim wires, undid the many catches and flipped open the bands that restrained the leg.
When it was free she stroked the shapely limb gently with one hand, lingering over the well-toned quads and calves, while the other held the ankle firmly to the table.
“Verrry nice, strong girl. I like strong girl. So many here like little sticks, I worry to break. You look more healthy woman.” She clapped the stroking hand down above the knee and raised the leg toward the ceiling, pushing forward until it pointed straight up at the lights and the girl attached to it groaned against the tightness of her hamstring. Ruta stopped pushing but held the leg in position.
“Yes, you very tight. Lay too long here. But we stretch you out.”
While the therapist held the leg in the stretched position the girl had her first chance to see her foot. Most of it was covered in tape and gauze, white stained with antiseptic. The skin she could see peaking through the dressings was an angry, dark-mottled yellow, like a nasty bruise. There was no splint. So why couldn’t she flex her ankles, beyond a little wiggle? What had the doctor meant by “reinforced?”
“You foot hurt now, eh? Not for long. Soon feel better, and very pretty. Then I teach you walk on toes, like dancer. Verrry elegant, high-class. Your man like.”
After holding the leg in position for a minute Ruta allowed it to fall a ways, then raised it again to its maximum. Finally she laid it back on the table, only to flex it and slowly push the knee up toward her subject’s chest.
“Nice bosoms they make for you! Doctor here very good, they make pretty girl extra-special. You see!”
For some minutes the powerful woman manipulated the girl’s leg, stretching the hip and knee to their limits in all directions, heeding her subject’s complaints so as not to go too far. Ruta’s appearance and manner had at first filled the restrained girl with new fears – and chased the despair of her surrender from her mind. But as the stretching progressed the dumpy amazon’s friendly chatter, surprisingly gentle touch, and skilled professionalism put her subject at ease.
Soon she was not just tolerating the stretching, but fully cooperating with it. One of the lesser worries that had troubled her, while she hung awake in her restraints sometime late in her long “night,” was that if the clinic indeed kept her strapped to the table “indefinitely” she would lose her hard-earned muscle tone and flexibility. The therapy, like the gentle attention the nurse had paid earlier to her skin, comforted the girl with its reminder that she was valuable property.
When Ruta had finished both legs and refastened their restraints, she stood back with her hands on her hips.
“Good! When you fight with doctor I think you bad girl, trouble maker. But you no just pretty, you good girl! I take care of you every day from now. Tomorrow we push a little more, maybe, but we go slow. We have time. When I finish you be girl of rubber! Bye now, be good!” She waved a meaty paw as she thumped out the door.
The girl lay dazed by the cascade of trials and terrors she had faced in just the last hour. The terrifying memories were already dim, of being smothered nearly to death by a pair of pinching fingers, of the shame of her surrender to the sadistic developer. Had all that happened thirty minutes ago? Twenty? She tried to remember why she had resisted in the first place. It had been foolish….silly. There was no hope of rescue or escape. She had no choice but to accept her fate.
She thought of her new job title: “Custom Pleasure Companion.” She recalled the grotesque premonition of oral slavery that she’d had during the gag-reflex test. She thought of the weird, unnatural modifications she’d seen on the video screen, any of which might be in store for her. Again she thought she should be horrified, repulsed. But it was too much for her overtaxed mind – she couldn’t organize the flood of frightening visions and summon the proper reaction.
Soon she gave up the useless effort, relaxed within her bonds and stared up at the ceiling. Her smiling mouth sucked mindlessly on the feeder gag. She was grateful for the salty paste, and for the feeling of fresh blood moving in her legs.
Chapter 6 – Training
The girl’s dazed reverie was broken by the nurse, who stepped forward into view and squeezed the bulb on the feeder gag, dropping the last few squirts of pureed food into her charge’s vulnerable gullet. Lunchtime was over.
With the bag of paste emptied, the nurse twisted the bulb sharply and withdrew the cone-shaped feeder gag from her subject’s mouth. The plastic faceplate remained, and a short cylinder projected from it into the girl’s mouth so that her teeth remained propped wide apart. Quickly the nurse returned with another plastic prod, this one studded with sensors and trailing an electronic cable instead of a feeding tube. The girl was helpless to resist its insertion between her spread jaws, and the nurse secured it to the faceplate with a quick twist. The prod did not reach quite to the back of the girl’s mouth, and left room to maneuver her tongue.
The nurse moved out of view toward the foot of the table. The girl felt her legs spreading wider as the articulated table silently forced them further apart. There was a release of pressure in her rectum, and the waste tube slipped out of her. But in a moment another device poked at her anus, which continued to gape slightly after its long violation. The new intruder was cool, smooth, and larger than the waste tube, but had been well greased with lubricating gel and slid easily into her. The girl gasped as its rounded tip pressed into her bowel. The insertion was not really painful, but she had never taken anything other than the skinny enema tube in her butt and it was strange to be so filled back there. The nurse fiddled with some hardware at the base of the prod, and when she stepped away the girl found it was held securely within her.
Next she felt a similar device nosing between her lower lips and at the entrance to her snug vagina. She wasn’t a virgin, but neither had her female passage entertained many visitors. She preferred to satisfy her boyfriends with her mouth, and only a choice few had won access to her most private place. She was tight, and now as she lay naked under the floodlights in this frightening place, bone dry. But the nurse was insistent and slowly worked the greased, slightly flexible prod into her.
The girl whimpered as it entered, at the pain and the violation. Finally it was in place and like its anal twin fixed so that it was held firmly inside her.
The restrained, abused, and now thoroughly plugged victim was shocked and confused. By now she had resigned herself to being raped, eventually. But to be penetrated so easily, clinically, and simultaneously in three orifices had taken her by surprise.
Suddenly she felt rubber fingers groping her clitoris. The nurse flicked and rubbed it as her victim’s eyes widened. But as the uninvited stimulation continued her body responded reflexively. She felt nerves tingle through her abdomen and along her inner thigh, and could tell her little clitty was swelling. Suddenly the nurse grasped it firmly between two fingers of one hand – eliciting a grunt of pain from her subject – then gingerly fixed the jaws of a blunt-toothed clamp around the base of the bud. It was uncomfortable but not really painful, and it trapped the clitoris securely even after its swelling ebbed. The clamp was fixed in position; the girl guessed it was mounted to the top of the vaginal dildo.
The nurse appeared next at her side, and quickly teased one of her nipples to attention as easily as she had the clitoris. When it stood sufficiently erect for her purposes she clipped a small device to it. A wire hung from the unseen gizmo, brushing the girl’s ribs. The nurse moved around and repeated the attachment at her other breast, then moved off toward the door.
The lights dimmed and there was a pop of static on the video monitor above the girl’s head. White letters displayed “Generic Companion Training 3.2,” followed by a message that was both spelled out on the screen and voiced over the monitor’s speakers: “This training program requires your strict attention. Follow instructions and remain focused on the screen at all times, and you can avoid punishment.”
The monitor was dark and silent for a moment, then voiced and displayed in large letters, simply: “SUCK.”
Still stunned by the latest turn of events, the girl reacted with puzzlement. What the hell were they talking about?
“SUCK,” the program repeated.
This was stupid. Did they expect her to suck on a plastic knob…
“Aaaaaaah!” Stinging sparks briefly zapped her nipples and clitoris.
“Follow instructions and you can avoid punishment,” the voice intoned. Then the display and voice together, again: “SUCK.”
Shocked and frightened, the girl applied suction to the prod in her mouth. When the pressure reached a certain point, it made a soft clicking sound.
“SQUEEZE your cunt,” the voice ordered, the screen displaying only the first word of the command.
What? How could she, she couldn’t…
She tried, tightening the muscles of her abdomen, her mind groping along little-used nerves…
“Aaaaaaaaagggh!” A longer burst of pain this time.
“Follow instructions and you can avoid punishment. SQUEEZE.”
The girl found the right button to push in her brain, and felt herself clamping down on the vaginal dildo. It was so unfamiliar: she’d always thought of such contractions as something that happened, rather than something she consciously did.
What….not enough pressure. She bore down harder on the plastic invader, until she felt another click vibrate through her sensitive tissues.
“CLENCH your ass.” This one she got on the first try.
“SUCK……… SQUEEZE………. CLENCH………….. SUCK………….. SQUEEZE………….CLENCH…..”
Round and round it went. At first several seconds passed between each command, but with each cycle the pace that was demanded of her slowly increased. Squeezing her pussy was always the hardest part – her muscles there were firm and healthy, but undisciplined.
As the girl struggled to meet the demands of the program she felt a low hum building in her sensitive buds. The clamps that held her nipples and clitoris had begun vibrating. There was a stirring in her loins, too: the previously inert dildo lodged in her pussy had come to life with vibrations, and a slow stroking motion. The distraction threw her off the pace – she could not make her pussy respond in time to meet the demands of the program, earning herself more pain.
“Obedience may be rewarded with pleasure. Failure to follow instructions will be punished. SUCK.”
Again the cycle began, slowly at first, then accelerating. As she met the program’s demands the buzzing and slow reaming of her pussy resumed. She really wished they wouldn’t. It was impossible to think of any of this torture as sexy or exciting. She was just trying to keep up, trying to prevent more electric shocks to her most sensitive places. She didn’t need the distraction.
The pace had built to about one command every two seconds when the rotation suddenly shifted from the orderly “SUCK… SQUEEZE… CLENCH” to a random pattern. The girl was taken by surprise and SQUEEZED when she’d been ordered to CLENCH. A long pulse of electricity pulsed through her tender flesh, forcing a groan of pain past the oral prod.
“Disobedience will be severely punished. Maintain strict attention at all times and follow instructions and you can avoid punishment. SUCK.”
The girl wept as she complied, beginning the cycle yet again. She watched the screen intently now, waiting for the changes of direction, through eyes blurred by tears. The pace of commands quickened while the buzzing and grinding slowly intensified…
The training session seemed to go on forever, ending only when she was too fatigued to continue. Her inexperienced pussy gave out first, earning her repeated shocks that grew longer and more intense with each failure to obey.
Finally the computer program recognized her exhaustion. “Training Program terminated – Incomplete. Subject Performance: Poor. Recommendation: hydration and rest. Recommendation: repeat this program until performance satisfactory, before advancing to next level. Shutdown.”
The screen went blank, it’s message filling the abused captive with despair.
She wept quietly while the nurse removed the clamps, dildos, and oral prod, and replaced the waste and feeding tubes. A fresh feeding bag was hung on the metal stand, this one filled with a watery formula as thin as melted ice cream, if not as sweet. A switch was flipped and the creepy-crawlies returned to her feet. The room dimmed, and the nurse’s footsteps clicked away down the hall.
Bzzzzzzt! The room lights flashed, and the exhausted girl awakened groggily. She stared up into the lights for a moment, trying to remember where she was and why she was there, before the room darkened again.
The passage of time became a blur. The girl’s waking hours were filled now with training: almost every moment that Ruta was not there to stretch her, and the nurse was not inflating her boobs, massaging her with lotions, or attending to her basic needs for nourishment and voiding of waste, she spent sucking and squeezing to the beat of the computerized drum. With no windows or clocks it was impossible to tell how long each session lasted, or how much time separated them.
Adding to her disorientation, there was no detectable rhythm to her schedule. Sometimes her rest periods were frequent and passed quickly, other times her training continued past the point of exhaustion and the rest periods dragged on until she thought she’d go mad with pure boredom. But the girl was sure her captivity had passed into the realm of weeks, as time was measured outside her little room, rather than days.
On her second training run she had focused intently on the commands, motivated not by a desire to excel but by a frightened hope to avoid more painful shocks. She surprised herself by achieving a score of “Satisfactory.” Her surprise turned to pride in her performance, briefly, before she banished that thought and worried what the “next level” might entail. It turned out that level two, and all the levels that followed, featured pornographic videos displayed on the overhead screen.
The first film concentrated on the art of the blowjob. The action was continuous, plotless, and mechanical; the camera focused on the oral techniques of an attractive but dull-eyed blond who “starred” in the movies. There was no dialogue, only instructions issued by male voices to the blonde, who obeyed quickly, wordlessly, and with practiced skill. Rather than arousing excitement the movies were almost boring, like training films.
At random intervals but never more than 10 seconds apart, the command words would interrupt the film. The commands were flashed silently now, in a smaller font and briefly, forcing the girl to pay strict attention to the screen in order to comply and avoid punishment. With the new distractions posed by the more complex training it took the girl three tries, separated by rest breaks, feedings, and other treatments, to score Satisfactory at level 2. For hours at a time the only sounds in the little room were the slurping and humming of the actress on the screen, and the slurping and grunting of the firmly restrained girl sucking at her oral prod and bearing down on her dildos.
The level three film featured both oral and vaginal sex, and added the command word “LICK:” the girl found that a sensor on the bottom of the plastic prod strapped into her mouth could detect her swirling tongue. In addition to the command words the movies above level two were interrupted by what looked like momentary bursts of static.
As the training progressed the girl felt herself being ever more affected by the vibrating clamps and grinding dildo. At first they had been a nuisance, but as her fear of the training process faded – she was getting good enough at keeping up with the commands to avoid the little shocks, most of the time – her body began to react to the incessant teasing. At first, it was only when the stimulation intensified late in her training runs that trickles of her own juices began to supplement the artificial lube that greased the vaginal dildo. But before long she was getting wet reflexively as soon as she saw the nurse preparing the training equipment.
Soon she began to feel truly aroused during the training runs, and to seek release. She focused harder on the pornographic display, imagined herself in the role of the sexy and tireless blonde on the screen, and opened herself to the stimulation offered by the various gadgets that stroked her pleasure nerves. It was perverted, she knew, but the endless teasing had become a torture in itself. The girl cloaked her shame at her own depravity by telling herself it would be a victory to steal a moment of pleasure from under the noses of her captors.
But she could never achieve it. Whenever she came close, the rate at which the commands came seemed to pick up abruptly. In her building excitement she could never keep pace, and each time earned herself only a set of shocks and a restart of the program. What had begun as a distraction became a source of frustration.
While the training progressed, the other aspects of the girl’s development proceeded apace. The breast expansion continued, and now when she was laid out flat she could feel the weight of her swelling boobs pressing down on her chest, and the ever-stronger tugs they exerted when she hung prone in the restraining bands. But now she also had the chance to watch their growth.
At every meeting after their first, the burly therapist Ruta unstrapped her head and swung the confining headrest down and away. Chattering amiably as always, the bear-like woman grasped the girl’s head firmly in her powerful hands, turned it slowly left and right, then with irresistible strength flexed the neck forward and back, side to side. She repeated each motion several times before refastening the head strap. At these periodic head-tippings the girl checked the size of her boobs, and watched them grow in increments from plump grapefruits – already a size or two larger than her natural boobs had been – into ponderous, overripe honeydews that blocked her view of her lower body. Always, they felt hard, and sat high and round on her chest with her skin stretched taut across them. The first sign of relaxation was a signal to the developer that the next set of injections was due.
Ruta gradually added other elements to her physical therapy. Releasing both legs and the pelvic straps, she pushed the legs up and over so that the girl’s lower back bent, her toes pointed past the top her head, and the captive stared at her own shins. Then she used the legs like levers to swivel the lower body from side to side, before dropping away the saddle that cradled her subject’s butt and flexing the torso the other way, stretching her subject’s abdominals. Always, she pushed to a point just short of pain. The girl relished the stretching sessions, and thought of Ruta’s visits as breaks from the suffering, frustration and tedium that filled the rest of her time in confinement.
She had seen less of the developer, her “doctor,” during this time. He would come in occasionally to check on her, poking and prodding and checking the instruments arrayed around the room. She was always gagged when she saw him, either with the feeder or the training prod. Then came a visit when he entered with Ruta and stood right next to her table, looked down into her cheerfully paralyzed face, and smiled. The girl’s dulled mind recognized that something had changed.
“Congratulations! I was right, you have found a buyer in your pre-completion auction. The deal has just been finalized, and your new owner will soon be working out the details of your custom enhancements with our design consultants.”
The gagged female blinked. After going so long without proper sleep, it was hard for her brain to process anything beyond simple commands. But her doctor’s words penetrated the deepening fog: he was telling her she’d been sold.
“You’re very lucky this buyer took an interest in you! He’s one of our best and oldest clients. He’s a man with substantial resources, even for one of our exclusive clientele. You’ll be the third pleasure companion he’s obtained from our clinic over the years – we’ve also done a housemaid and, if I recall, a bodyservant for him, so the work of attending to his needs will not fall on you alone. He has the staff to look after you properly, and I know he keeps two homes where he can enjoy his companions discreetly, so you won’t need to worry about being locked away in some dark cellar. He does have an interest in extreme insertions, which may take some getting used to. But on the whole you’ve done very well!”
The girl blinked again. She greeted the news that her owner was a “he” with some relief, but most of the rest went over her head. The doctor’s upbeat tone was encouraging, though.
“Now, we need to unlimber those arms. When you first came to us we ground down the shoulder sockets a bit, to allow you more mobility in the joint. You’ll be able to accommodate very extreme arm bondage positions, which are so fashionable now. But as the abraded surfaces heal, adhesions tend to form in the joint. We need to break those down now. This may hurt a little the first time…”
As he spoke Ruta had been undoing the bands that had held the girl’s right arm to the table since she’d first awakened here, weeks ago. She closed her eyes in anticipation of a long-awaited release, and welcome stretching. The sturdy therapist grasped her arm – no longer numb but still strangely weak – in both hands. She drew it out and away from the girl’s body, but it swung only a short way before it bumped up against an unfamiliar soreness in her shoulder. Ruta felt it and stopped for a moment, before pushing again. Hard.
The girl’s eyes and voice snapped open together as a high-pitched scream forced itself past her feeding gag. Ruta pushed until her subject’s arm pointed straight away from her toes. It swung slowly, with a grating, ratcheting motion, like a rusty lever. Every step brought fresh agony. It hurt almost as badly when Ruta forced the arm back to its starting position at her subject’s side. Then she lifted it, so that it pointed up toward the lights, bringing more screams and free-flowing tears from her bound victim. Grim and silent now, the green-clad amazon worked the arm in every direction, then repeated the cycle.
The second time around the pain was lessened, and the girl merely groaned. But the screams came again when Ruta repeated the routine with her left arm. When she was done the burly therapist stepped back, leaving both arms laying in their sculpted recesses in the table, unsecured. The girl tried to raise them, but they were pathetically weak, and the effort only brought fresh pain to her shoulders. She had looked forward for so long to having her arms free, but now that they were she could only lay there, weeping as the pain lingered.
“Well you’ll be glad to know that was the worst of it,” the developer offered. “From now on Ruta will include arm work in your regular therapy. You’ll soon be pain-free, and have flexibility you never dreamed of. We’ve also severed two ligaments in each of your elbows, so they can be dislocated easily and painlessly. And, we’ve severed the nerves that govern the major muscles in your arms, which is why they feel so weak even though all the drugs wore off long ago. Ruta will teach you how to use the auxiliary muscles to perform the little tasks that will be required of your hands. You’re really coming along very nicely!”
Quiet, gagged sobs were the captive’s only reply.
“Ruta, let’s give her a few minutes before the rest of her therapy.” He reached down suddenly to grope the swollen tits. “Nurse, these feel a little slack already. Her skin is responding especially well to the expansion treatments. I suppose now would be a good time for the next set of injections – and after this round let’s move up to 300 CC per.”
Chapter 7 – On her Feet
The girl grunted and strained against her bonds as she squeezed the slick dildo that pumped her cunt, then clenched her ass as though she were trying to break the resilient anal prod in half. She’d managed a perfect training run so far, and the humming and stroking of her stimulators had risen to a high pitch. She was getting close to what had become her main mission in life: getting off on the plastic dildos and buzzing clips that endlessly tormented her.
A burst of static interrupted the film playing out on the monitor above, a level eight program that featured blowjobs, pussy and assfucking, titjobs, rimjobs, and a few other techniques the girl had no names for. The dazed blonde “star” of the films climbed off the prick she’d been assfucking and effortlessly deepthroated another monstrous cock. The screen momentarily flashed SUCK in tiny letters and the girl bound to the table pulled hard on the oral prod, drawing the entire faceplate in so that it flattened her lips against her teeth.
She imagined herself as the blonde, sucking not on the tasteless prod but on that beautiful, delicious cock. She squeezed the quivering, stroking pussy dildo constantly, trying to increase the friction and gain more stimulation. Through painful experience she’d learned just how hard she could squeeze before tripping the detector and earning a set of shocks for disobedience. Her nostrils flared and her body flushed, her exertions bringing forth a sheen of sweat across her forehead and her cleavage. She was so close…
Outside her field of view, green lines fluttered across the monitor connected to the wire leads that were pasted to her forehead. The machine sent a signal to the computer that governed the training program, and the pace of command words rapidly increased: SUCK – LICK – SUCK – LICK – SUCK – SUCK – CLENCH…
Oh no! Even as the plastic oral prod clicked a third consecutive time, the girl realized she’d blown it. Again.
“Aaaaaaaaaaggggggghh!” Long, intense bursts of electricity coursed through her nipples and clamped clitty, while the vibrations and cunt-pumping stopped cold.
“Disobedience will be severely punished,” the cold, all-knowing voice intoned. “Maintain strict attention at all times, follow instructions and you can avoid punishment. Program Terminated – Incomplete.” The girl’s eyes moistened in helpless frustration. She felt the blood ebb from her swollen pussy and smarting clitoris, but arousal still clattered inside her head, so intense that she heard bells. An anguished groan escaped her.
“Hope I’m not interrupting.”
It was her developer. In her focus on the screen and on her own stimulation, she hadn’t heard him enter. Her already pink body flushed further with the realization that he must have been watching her for some time. Now he moved to check the paper strips that had been spat out by the brainwave monitor.
“Um-hmmm. You’re making real progress. And the rest period strips have leveled out, too. Good. Nurse, let’s get her toweled off and ready for bed.”
While the nurse – who had apparently entered with him – obeyed, he flipped switches and turned dials on the brainwave monitor. Then he moved to the computer terminal by the door and tapped out new instructions.
“Sweet dreams!” he said with a smile, then exited the room.
The nurse dried her charge thoroughly, then exchanged the training prods for the maintenance connections. The captive received an involuntary bladder-draining and a small enema – both of which had become so routine that she hardly noticed them anymore. The table was flipped into the inverted position, and the girl felt the weight of the growing, plastic filled tit-sacs pulling at the chemically softened skin of her chest. She could see her nips now, descending into view below her cheekbones. Once again the swarm of ants appeared on her feet, and the lights dimmed.
The girl dozed lightly for some time. Her unconscious mind had become conditioned to the denial of REM, and seldom attempted to descend into deep sleep. Now she might be awakened by the buzzer and flashing lights only once each rest period, if at all. But she’d had a long “day,” filled with two training sessions and breast injections and her expanding flexibility program. After a few hours cruising half-awake, her mind was again drawn down into the depths….
She saw strange shapes stirring in the darkness. It was the nurse and doctor, standing over her. The room was half illuminated with a soft blue light, and the figures were distorted, like she was looking up through a fisheye lens. Their voices were muffled and unintelligible – but the nurse was speaking! This couldn’t be her nurse, or her room….but it was someplace she’d been before, long ago. She was in dreamland.
She was afraid! She knew she wasn’t allowed to dream – she’d be punished somehow. But nothing happened.
The doctor addressed the nurse in a muffled voice. They tipped her table into the vertical position, and undid all the restraining bands, one by one.
“You’ve been a very good girl.” Her doctor smiled at her and extended his hand in gentlemanly fashion. She reached out and clasped it, and stepped easily out of her restraints. She felt light as air, walking naked on her toes as he led her to the door. It swung open silently before them.
Outside was not the sterile white corridor she’d imagined, but a large, moodily lit room draped with silk curtains in purple and blood red. The doctor led her by the hand across ankle-deep white carpet to the only piece of furniture, an ornately carved stool in the center of the circular room, and invited her to sit.
“Enjoy your reward. You’ve earned it!” He turned and departed, the door closing behind him. The girl sat quietly on the stool, her hands folded in her lap. She looked down at herself. Her boobs were huge, jutting, perfect pears. Beneath her trim waist, her lush buttocks made for a comfortable seat on the lightly upholstered stool. She felt her auburn hair, clean and curly, draped across her shoulders and down her back. She smelled of perfume, and felt beautiful.
Suddenly there were rustlings in the draperies. In the shadows behind the lurid silks a platoon of erect dicks appeared, eight or ten approaching from all around and pointed straight at her. As they emerged from the darkness she saw they were attached to tall and muscular male figures, with generically handsome faces that looked down on her sternly. The figures advanced slowly until they circled her, shoulder-to-shoulder, their long, stiff pricks like a ring of spears. When the dull points were just within her reach, the figures stopped and stared down at her, unsmiling.
Fearfully, she leaned forward and reached out to one of the intimidating cocks, not sure what was expected of her. After hesitating for a moment, she touched the tip lightly, then curled her fingers around the shaft. Slowly she began to stroke up and down its length.
With a quick motion the figure behind the prick knocked her hand away and ordered: “Suck!”
Immediately she fell to her knees on the soft carpet and inhaled him, stroking her lips up and down the shaft just behind the glans. The entire cock was far too much to take into her mouth. It tasted sweet and clean, like prime steak to a starving man.
“Suck!” said the figure to her left. She drew her lips off the first cock with a pop, and plunged down on the second. As she stroked the figure slowly reached forward and grasped her head, pressing its fingertips hard against the sides of her skull. Slowly, while she looked up past chiseled abs into the statue-like visage, the male drew her to him, burying his length between her lips. Pressure built against the back of her mouth, but then he plunged past that constriction and down her throat. She was afraid for a moment, but fear gave way to arousal as she felt his knob sliding painlessly and excitingly up and down inside her neck. Feeling no need to breathe, she closed her eyes as her privates began to tingle…
The male pulled her off its member and slapped her across the face, sending her reeling back against the stool. “Maintain strict attention at all times! Follow instructions and you can avoid punishment!”
“Suck!” said another figure to her right. Rubbing her cheek quickly she crawled to him, and took the third prick between her lips. This time she made only three short strokes before herself pushing her head towards his groin and taking his glans down her throat. She rocked back and forth on her knees, feeling her heavy tits swing while his lemon-sized cockhead bulged out the front of her neck. Her nipples and clitty were hardening, her tight little pussy moistening, but she held eye contact with the impassive face far above.
“Suck!” said a figure behind her, and she scrambled around the stool to obey. After she’d throated the fourth cock for a minute, its owner gripped her head firmly and spoke into her upturned face, “Stand!”
With some difficulty she climbed to her toes, bent at the waist with her mouth still filled by the steel-hard prick. She craned her neck and rolled her eyes as far back as she could, trying to hold eye contact with the figure before her. She felt another cock nosing between her round butt cheeks, and reached behind herself to spread her ass while arching her back to better expose her pussy. In a moment the unseen rod was pushing into her now sopping female passage. She gasped around the cock in her mouth as with one stroke the second dick filled her box to its limit.
“Squeeze!” commanded a voice behind her, and she clamped down on the rigid tool. The figure to her rear grasped her wide hips, and both he and the male that gripped her skull began pushing her back and forth, working their pricks in and out of her mouth and cunt while she squeezed and sucked to match their pace, her heavy boobs swinging beneath her. The rest of the figures moved in close around them, and began jacking off above her.
Slowly the pace of the double-team fucking increased, until the huge athletic figures threw her back and forth between them as though she were a doll. Pressure grew rapidly, and she began to groan with pleasure, moaning around the rigid cock that slid back and forth between her lips. She let go of her own asscheeks and clutched the hard thighs of the figure before her.
Suddenly she felt a raindrop on her back, and the stern figure with whom she locked eyes ordered:
Release came instantly, like an explosion of fireworks in her brain. She forced repeated screams past the mouth-fucking dick, in rhythm with the continued pounding. Her cunt spasmed around the cock that reamed it, increasing the friction and driving her to greater heights. She felt the prick in her mouth pulsing, and hot goo shooting into her belly, while the raindrops on her back built into a downpour of hot spunk.
Her knees buckled, and her cries turned plaintive, but the strong hands that grasped her took on her weight and continued to slam her back and forth upon their still-hard members while her jugs flopped back and forth crazily.
She came again, and again, and again. The flow of rich milky semen seemed endless – she felt it backing up in her throat, and being forced out of her overfilled box around the pistoning dick. By the time her partners were fully drained, she was barely conscious. They drew themselves out of her and released their grips, letting her fall in a heap to the thick carpet, where she leaned her sperm-coated back against the stool. A trio of males who were not out of ammunition advanced and whacked off over her, spraying her face and chest with pints of sticky goo. Gasping, she ran her tongue around her lips and tasted their seed as the silk-draped room faded into darkness.
“Have a good night?”
The developer smiled broadly as he read the paper strip printed out by the brainwave monitor, as though he could read the girl’s thoughts. Maybe he could, she thought.
Yes, it had been a good night. She’d awakened from the violent, hyper-sexed dreams hornier than ever, but the visions had at least provided a change of scenery from the crushing monotony of her imprisonment. And she felt more awake and clearer of mind than she could remember. For the first time since her abduction, she had a feeling that something good might actually happen today.
“Today’s a big day! We’re going to get you up on your feet. Ruta, show our girl her new shoes.”
The big green-garbed woman stepped into view, holding a strange object. The shiny red upper looked like it belonged to a very narrow slipper, but the inch-wide ankle strap was at the wrong angle. The sole was a black rubber wedge, but it was backwards: the narrow end of the wedge was at the heel, while the wide end extended just past the toe.
As the girl watched, Ruta smiled and rotated the shoe ninety degrees. Now it made more sense – if barely. The shoe would fit as long as her foot pointed straight down, in line with her shin. What she had first taken as the front of the backwards-wedge sole was actually the bottom, a beveled rectangular pad about two inches square.
“These only trainers,” the big woman said in her thick Slavic accent. “They help you learn walk on toes, like pretty dancer. Later you get the big heels, like needles.”
“Alright, one step at a time,” the doctor laughed. “Let’s get those on.”
The electrostim pads were peeled off, and the nurse wiped and dried the girl’s feet thoroughly. The pain and soreness were almost completely gone; only the outer sides of her feet remained slightly tender to the touch. Ruta gingerly slipped the shoes onto the girl’s feet, then tightened the ankle straps and more wide straps over the insteps. The developer pulled the catches behind the table and slowly lifted its captive into a vertical position, so that she felt the weight of her new jugs pulling downwards on her chest. They had softened noticeably during her inverted rest period, and sagged out of her view.
“Safety first,” her doctor said, while Ruta fitted a wide padded collar around the girl’s neck. “You’ve been off your feet for a long time, and we don’t want you to hurt yourself if you should take a tumble.” Ruta released the forehead strap, placed a lightweight helmet on the girl’s head and buckled it under her chin. Then she held a curved rubber mouthguard before the captive’s face.
The girl hesitated, unsure whether she should cooperate. She just stared at the guard with her mouth closed. Ruta’s smile faded slightly, but when she touched the guard to her charge’s closed lips the mouth opened reflexively and almost sucked it out of her fingers.
The girl was surprised by her own reaction – had she meant to do that? Ruta twisted a knob on the outside of the guard, extending firm rubber pegs inside the girl’s mouth that spread her jaw and held the protective gag in place.
The developer pushed a lever and a quiet hiss of air was heard. The entire table slowly descended until the soles of the strange shoes just touched the tile floor. Ruta undid the restraining bands one by one, and the girl’s feet took on more and more of her weight. The soreness in her feet reappeared, but it was bearable, the shoes being well designed to support and distribute the load, and the discomfort was insignificant next to her eagerness to try her legs. She noticed sadly that when her arms were released they hung limp at her sides. She barely had the strength to swing them a few degrees.
The last band to go was the one above her big new boobs. Ruta put her meaty hands up under her subject’s arms as the developer released it.
“Step forward, I have you.”
Tentatively, the girl slid her left foot forward a few inches. She felt tension building at her back, as though she were glued to the table. She pushed the right foot forward with greater force, and there was a sticky peeling sound as the table released her. She stumbled forward into Ruta’s arms, her knees shaking violently and toes groping for the floor.
The huge woman laughed heartily and hugged her much smaller charge, as the girl’s huge round tits pressed against her therapists’ midsection. “Is OK, OK! Take your time, get feet under you!”
The girl calmed herself and with an effort pressed her toes to the floor, then straightened her knees again. “See? Like riding bike, they say.” Ruta stepped back, her strong hands steadying the wobbly trainee at arm’s length. “Come to me.”
The girl put one foot forward, then the other, taking halting steps a few inches long. Balancing was tricky, especially with the ponderous new counterweights that projected in front of her. She had to thrust her shoulders well back to balance the load of the volleyball-sized orbs. With each step Ruta retreated a like distance, steadying the girl but allowing her to carry her own weight.
When they had traveled a few feet, the doctor spoke. “Let her turn around and see where she’s been all this time.”
Like a lead dancer Ruta pivoted the pair clockwise, the girl shuffling her feet as they slowly spun. When she had turned completely around Ruta looked her up and down to be sure she was steady, then braced her with one hand and stepped to the side.
The “table” was like nothing the girl had imagined. There was no flat surface at all – it was really a conglomeration of sculpted shapes, each one designed to support a particular body part. The material that had supported her from behind was a black mesh, through which she could glimpse the complex steel armature that had carried her weight while allowing her limbs to be flexed or rotated individually. The whole contraption was mounted inside a pair of sturdy steel posts bolted to the floor, which allowed the “table” to spin between them. It was an impressive piece of equipment – but sinister. As it stood there empty, the open bands seemed to beckon to her, calling her back into their grasp. She shuddered and took an unsteady step back.
“OK, is OK, I have you.” said Ruta, stepping again between her charge and the threatening device. “Come this way, we walk.”
Slowly she turned them again and led her charge toward the door. When her wide butt bumped against it, she stopped and moved behind the girl, again placing one hand under each arm. “Do you want go outside?”
The girl was suddenly afraid, as though for a moment this little white room was all she knew, and the world outside the door was a mysterious and frightening place. But she nodded her helmeted head slowly, pressing her chin against the padded collar. Ruta reached out and touched a hand-sized metal plate next to the door, which swung open silently.
For a moment the girl remembered her dream, but there were no curtains or plush carpet – only a bare, white-tiled hallway. Ruta gave her a nudge and together they shuffled haltingly out of the room. They turned and began to make their way slowly down the corridor, which was perhaps 60 feet long and broken by several closed and windowless doors to either side. At the end of the corridor was a large double door, which did have small windows at eye level.
“Very good!” the developer called from behind them. “When you get back from therapy there’ll be more exciting things waiting – the orders for your custom mods have come in! We’ll get started as soon as Ruta is done with you.”
Ruta whispered to her: “Don’t worry that now. Focus your steps, you do very good.”
Prevented by the collar from looking down at her feet, the girl had no choice. With the unbalanced load she carried on her wobbly knees, she had to concentrate entirely on staying upright on the tiny-bottomed shoes or she’d topple over. The heavy tit-balls swung back and forth with each step, making the liquid plastic slosh inside and forcing constant compensations to maintain her balance. She blushed at the humiliation of having such vulgar absurdities grafted onto her body, and wondered if they were already full or destined to be made even larger.
But as she moved slowly towards the double door, she grew steadier with every step. She was an athlete, and had been in excellent condition when first brought here. Thanks to Ruta’s dedicated therapy, she had preserved much of her flexibility and strength through her long confinement. Other than the new burdens on her chest, her main problem was that her nervous system had misplaced some of the details of how to walk. Now, as she shuffled down the corridor on her toes, the blank spaces were rapidly reprogrammed and the front-heavy, tip-toe gait began to feel almost natural. By the time they reached the end of the hall she was lifting her feet and bending her knees, and Ruta needed only her strong fingertips to guide and steady her.
When they stood before the double door the girl could see movement through one of the small windows.
“This therapy room,” said Ruta as she reached to the side of the hallway and pressed another switch plate. The doors swung open and the girl gazed about a room the size of a basketball court, which held a variety of equipment. As she stepped inside, she thought it looked like a gym. There was a large area covered with a green mat, an assortment of fitness machines – some familiar and others odd – and some big, bulky objects that were either modern-art sculptures or padded gymnastics equipment.
The motion she’d glimpsed through the window belonged to the room’s only other occupant: another naked girl who rode one of the two treadmills set along the back wall. Bent forward at the waist, she jogged along at what the girl could see was a high speed and incline. Her legs were toned and thickly muscled, disproportionately to her small upper body. Her chest was broad and deep, but the boobs were mere swellings on the underside of her ribcage. The girl from the table took in the other’s feet: she ran on her toes, but these had been fitted or fused into a single pad, like the “hoof” modification the computer had shown her. Her face looked pretty, though marred by a black bit strapped across her mouth that pulled her lips back from her white teeth. Blinders restricted her vision, while leads from the head harness bound her to the treadmill. The runner’s arms were hidden, apparently bound behind her back.
“The new racing pony,” Ruta said. “Always running! You more lucky, get easy job. Come! First thing is massage!” Gently she guided her charge to a pair of long padded tables.
“Up!” Clumsily and with a strong assist from Ruta, the girl clambered onto a table and laid face down. Her face fit neatly into an oval hole in the table, so that she stared at the floor. Hollows were also located beneath her outsized and unnaturally firm tits, so that laying face-down was not uncomfortable. Ruta helped her lift her weakened arms and lay them at her sides.
“So long, so long. You must be so tight.” She began kneading the long disused muscles along the girl’s back, and sent her quickly into a near-euphoric state. As she thumped and squeezed up and down the back, butt, thighs, and neck, the release of tension and feeling of fresh blood flowing through such a large area of the girl’s body was almost like an orgasm! When the massage was finally over she was dazed, almost asleep.
“Up!” Ruta repeated, “Up!” The girl could barely lift her head out of the padded hole. Ruta quickly slid her big hands between her and the padded table and partly encouraged, partly lifted the girl back onto her feet. She had to steady her tenderized charge for a moment as she recovered, and remembered what she’d learned about walking in the training shoes.
“Now, we get good stretch!” She steered the gagged, toddling girl to the wide mat.
“Down!” Awkwardly the smaller female fell to her knees, making her swollen boobs bounce uncomfortably. Ruta removed the helmet and collar, but left the mouthguard in place.
“On back!” Her charge obeyed, and extended her legs. Ruta began working her out throughly. Legs, butt, torso, neck – nearly every muscle in the girl’s body was stretched to its limit in a session that must have lasted an hour. She became nervous when Ruta started in on her arms, but was relieved to find she’d regained her original mobility. Ruta, though, asked for even more, trying it seemed to wrench her wrists up between her shoulders. When she firmly bent each unresisting arm double, a popping sound came from the elbow and the back of the girl’s hand touched her shoulder.
The all-over stretching felt wonderful, but the subject of the attention was tired when it was done.
“Now, your turn to work.” Ruta smiled as they both sat on the mat facing each other. “Give me your hands!”
The girl would have frowned, if she could. Ruta held her own hands at chest height, inviting, but the girl’s biceps were dead. Her arms barely twitched when she tried to lift them. But with encouragement and cajoling, Ruta was able to show her that she could use the smaller auxiliary muscles to raise her forearms. At first the girl was somewhat encouraged, but it was so difficult and tiring to make even the simplest motions that she began to despair. She remained gagged, and her mask-like face could not communicate her frustration, so it was not until Ruta saw tears welling in her eyes that the bulky therapist realized they’d pushed far enough.
“OK, just one more time dear.” This time she grasped her charge’s hands and helped her raise them a little higher. The girl noticed black and red markings on the inside of her forearms, and tilted her head to look closer. She saw in block letters a half-inch high:
ARMS DECORATIVE ONLY
The gagged girl turned her wet brown eyes back to Ruta.
“Is only ink,” the big woman explained with a smile. “For clinic staff. Soon wash away. No worry, your new man no see the ugly words!”
Her subject’s mouth never stopped smiling around the rubber mouthguard, even as tears fell onto the upper slopes of her jutting tits. The racing pony went on jogging behind them. For a moment the only sounds in the room were the thump of her hooves, and the puffs of air that rushed loudly in and out of her bellows-like chest.
Chapter 8 – Meet the “Hoe“
Ruta allowed her teary charge no time to mope over the realization that her arms had been reduced to fashion accessories. After replacing the helmet and collar she stood the girl up, and they concluded her first therapy session with a walk around the perimeter of the PT room.
Sturdy handrails framed a walkway that circled the gym, but they were useless to the modified prisoner. Ruta walked behind her, guiding and bracing her with her hands, offering encouragements but always nudging her forward. The girl was forced to focus on her feet in order to stay upright on the toe-shoes, and as they walked her shoulders-back, tip-toed gait continued to improve. As she became steadier Ruta showed her how to stride more smoothly by swinging her wide hips.
When they made the turn to walk along the back of the room the girl again saw the hard-working pony, who continued jogging on the inclined treadmill. A long silky tail erupted from just above her muscular buttocks to bounce in time with her stride. But something else was wrong…. the pony’s arms were not bound behind her back, but were missing completely. Her shoulders ended in smooth curved bumps; as the girl passed close behind she could not see any scars.
The girl wondered if this could be a birth defect – then remembering that she herself had been born with healthy arms, and ten toes. She shivered with fear and revulsion. Was there no barbarity that was beyond her captors? She closed her eyes and felt her way with her toes as Ruta guided her past the humming treadmill.
“Pony always running now,” the chatty amazon said behind her. “Big show soon, and race. Our clinic win many show ribbons, maybe this pony win race too. Good luck, pony! We all root for you!” From behind them came a strange sound, like a high-pitched and muffled whinny of a horse.
Finally Ruta and her charge completed the circuit and stood by the wide double doors. The girl’s recently modified feet ached badly.
“Very good, dear. You walk so pretty! Now, we take you back to your room to rest….Yes, you must. No other bed for you while you stay here.” She pushed the wall plate that opened the doors, and they started back down the long corridor.
When they were about halfway along, one of the several swinging doors behind them opened with a bang. The girl heard the grating squeak of a wheel in need of grease, and male voices.
“O-R 1, did they say?”
“No, number 2. I think they changed it. Excuse us Ruta, priority traffic!”
Ruta used her fingertips to guide her charge to the side of the hallway, where the mismatched pair stood with their backs to the wall. Two white-clad orderlies wheeled a gurney through one of the side doors and down the corridor in their direction.
Rotating her head within the padded collar the girl saw that the patient on the wheeled stretcher was a blonde, her legs elevated and spread by stirrups mounted to the gurney rails. She was draped with a white sheet that bloused up over her breasts and hung like a tent over her raised legs, leaving only her head and bare feet visible. As the side door swung shut behind the gurney the girl caught a whiff of an odd smell – fresh air. The orderlies resumed their conversation.
“Some of these clients, you gotta wonder. They spend all this money – you think they’d read the fuckin’ manual.”
“I think this’s the third time for this guy, that I know of. First he wants to use this cunt to warm his sake…”
“You gotta admit, that was inspired!”
“OK, but they make smaller bottles. Then the toy train, and now this…”
As the gurney approached, the girl looked down at its passenger. Framed by bright golden kielbasa curls, a pretty but ash-gray face stared still and wide-eyed at the ceiling passing overhead. An oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose. As she rolled past the girl could see that the sheet underneath the blonde was stained with blood. Between her raised legs and poking out from under the drape was the drooping silver tail of a large fish.
“I’m no surgeon,” the irritated orderly continued, “but I know even Doctor B. can only rebuild a cunt so many times. I bet he has to go to a prosthesis after this.”
“Don’t get worked up,” his partner offered calmly. “It’s the client’s cunt, he paid for it. It’s none of our business what he wants to stuff up there. Repairs are just more coin for the clinic, anyway. Stuff like this isn’t covered by warranty.”
“I guess.” The first orderly paused for a moment, then chuckled. “Maybe I just get pissed off cause shit like this reminds me of my big brother breaking my toys when I was a kid!”
The orderlies shared a little laugh as they and the gurney disappeared through another door at the far end of the hall. The girl stared at the closing door for a moment, in shock. Her frozen doll’s face and “decorative” arms, the mutilated pony, and now this abomination… It was all too surreal to be actually happening. She had to be dreaming!
Ruta tapped her on the shoulder. “OK, we go, almost home.”
Torn between denial and dread, the girl allowed herself to be guided the last few steps to her room. When they entered she saw the “table” waiting for her in the vertical position, just as they’d left it. The many restraining bands hung open, like arms inviting an embrace. When she looked into the sculpted slings that had supported her body she felt something like a gravitational attraction.
But then her attention was drawn to a new piece of equipment standing by the wall. It was a beefily-framed steel box four feet high by two long, only eight inches wide at the top though it spread out somewhat at the bottom. It stood on heavy casters, and cigar-shaped tanks like those used for pressurized gases were mounted on its sides. The box was topped with a strange piece of machinery: a pair of black cylinders mounted horizontally, one above the other, plumbed with shiny steel lines and studded with knobs and gauges.
What was this? the girl wondered. Was it time for the final step in her breast enlargement, the last inflation that would turn the liquid plastic filling her new orbs into bubbly foam?
“OK, back to the table,” Ruta said gently as she dropped her hands for a moment and moved around to face her subject.
“Nnnnnnnh!” Without thinking the gagged girl seized the moment of freedom and stepped back. But she was not ready yet to make such sudden moves, and caught a rubber-shod toe on the tile floor. She staggered backwards, knocked her helmeted head against the wall and slid to the floor, jarring her tailbone while the sloshing melons on her chest bounced painfully.
Ruta’s puffy face darkened as she stared down at her rebellious charge, huge hands on her hips. “Now sudden you want make trouble. I warn you, remember. Now, get up.”
For a moment they locked eyes. Ruta’s stare was cold and frightening. The girl cast her eyes around the room wildly still seeking, irrationally, to flee. But quickly the futility of the idea became clear to her, and she lowered her head in resignation. After a moment she struggled to get her feet under her, but with her useless arms and the strapped-on toe-shoes it seemed impossible. After some whining exertions her butt still rested on the floor, and she looked up at the amazonian therapist for help.
“So you need Ruta’s help, yes? OK, I help you.” The thick bear’s paws reached down and clutched the phony tits, strong short-nailed fingers digging in behind the stretched aureolas and dragging her upwards. “Up you come!”
“Aaaah!” The girl whined but quickly found the means to get her feet under her and take the load off her abused jugs. Leaning against the wall she pressed down on her toes until she stood again, while the huge woman still clutched her nipples. The girl looked up into the face she’d thought of almost as a friend’s, feeling betrayed.
“I warn you about trouble. You good girl, no make Ruta punish you. I no like to punish. But I have job, and no silly girl make Ruta look bad.” She stared for a moment into the frightened eyes, then suddenly smiled again. “OK, we forget it! Now, to the table.”
Still holding the girl by the nipples, but more gently now, the green-smocked giant guided the shuffling feet until her charge stood with her back against the webs. The first band she closed was the one across the upper chest, just under the shoulders. After the headband was resecured and as Ruta fastened the many restraints one by one across her torso and legs, the girl noticed shiny steel projecting from behind her head and past her face. While she’d been in therapy the oral restraints had been remounted.
Ruta had removed the helmet and collar and was closing the last arm bands when the door banged open and two familiar sets of footsteps entered. The developer spoke cheerfully, as always.
“So, how was the first full therapy session?”
“Very good, doctor. She learn walk fast, and flexi-blitty very good for so soon. No problem to report.” Ruta shot the bound girl a quick smiling glance, as if she were keeping a secret.
“Excellent. The custom mod orders for our girl have come in, and we’re going to move right ahead with them. Here’s a copy for you.” He handed a thin binder to the therapist, who began flipping through it.
“We have some time before she goes under again, so after you review the orders let me know what you can get done with her between now and the surgeries.”
“OK, yes, I will. I leave her to you now. Bye dear! Be good with doctor, soon you be most pretty girl!” Ruta smiled once more and thumped out the door on her sneakers.
“Now,” the doctor spoke to the bound and gagged girl as he flipped through the small binder. “We have some very exciting changes in store for you. Your new master is interested in the newest technology, so there’s a long list of the most advanced treatments here. He’s ordered a full set of our latest oral mods for you, including ‘gills’ and the XDT port. Your breast expansion will continue as planned but an interesting nipple treatment has been added. He’s excited about our new ‘invisible corset,’ and with your high starting hip-to-waist ratio you’re a natural for that treatment. He’s also asked for the hot button programming, and…”
He looked up from the binder. “Never mind, I’m sure this is Greek to you. Trust me that you’re going to emerge from this development as a remarkable, state-of-the-art companion. There’s one thing you should be able to understand, though: your master has picked a name for you. He’s a bit of a romantic, I think, and based on your heritage and coloration he fancies you his harem girl. From this moment on, you are Jasmine. Though you must also respond to Doll, or Dolly.”
Above her gag the girl blinked brown eyes at the developer. Surely, morning must be coming soon. She waited eagerly for the sound of the alarm clock, and looked forward to telling her friends about this incredible nightmare.
“The invasive procedures will have to wait until the surgical team is next assembled – we only get everyone together when we have several projects ready for them to work on – but we can get started now with some of the simpler adjustments.”
The masked nurse had entered along with the doctor, and while he’d spoken of changes to come she’d busied herself about the new machine. The restrained girl had watched with curious unease as the black-clad attendant screwed onto the upper of the two horizontal cylinders a shiny, 18 inch long metal shaft tipped with a miniature black football. A thin hose was coiled around the shaft; the black-gloved hands connected it to a fitting on the machinery. Now as the doctor finished speaking the nurse approached, holding an electric clipper.
Oh no! the helpless girl recoiled. He said I might not keep my hair!
The doctor moved behind the girl and popped the catches, laying her out flat. The lower part of the table split again, opening her legs silently. With a buzz the nurse began shaving away the captive’s already short-cropped pubic hair. The doctor pushed another lever, and the girl’s arms were splayed wide until she lay spread under the lights like a starfish. The nurse moved to her sides and shaved her armpits as well.
While the doctor continued his own preparations the silent nurse inserted the catheter and enema tubes, and inflated the small balloons that held them in place. Then she retrieved a jar of cream from the wall cabinet, and with firm circular motions rubbed it into the girl’s shaved underarms and mound. In a moment the sites warmed with a chemical heat. When the nurse had coated the shaved areas throughly the girl’s bound arms were adjusted downward again, so that they angled out from her body at about 30 degrees. The heat from the cream built until it was uncomfortable, but stopped short of real pain.
“Double-check those plugs, Twelve, we don’t want a mess now.” The obedient assistant tugged again at the catheter and anal waste tubes, then swabbed the plumbed captive’s outstretched arm with alcohol as the doctor stood by holding a needle-tipped syringe.
“I’m going to give you a muscle relaxant. I think you’ll see it’s for the best.” He bent and administered the injection. As he and the nurse continued their preparations the girl felt her tense muscles softening under their restraints.
The doctor rolled his stool next to her head, and the nurse positioned a tool-filled cart next to him. Twisting the knob on the rubber mouthguard he drew it from his subject’s jaws, which snapped shut behind it.
“Come on Jasmine, open your mouth.” He held a rubber wedge before the girl’s face, and smiled for a moment at her grinning refusal. The moment he brushed the wedge against her lips the girl opened as if to suck on it. Quickly he pushed the wedge between her teeth, propping her jaw open.
Dammit! She cursed herself silently as he swung the steel fingers of the oral restraints into her mouth. Did she have any control over herself anymore?
In a few minutes the girl’s mouth was spread wide again by the shining arms, her lower jaw clamped and her entire head pushed back rigidly into the headrest. The developer removed the now redundant rubber wedge and presented her with the tongue forceps.
“You know the routine. But control yourself this time; don’t make me knock you out just for a little dental work.”
With a whine of symbolic protest the helpless prisoner offered her tongue, which the developer quickly grasped and stretched until the grommeted piercing slipped over the steel hook on her chin. From the cart he produced a skinny 5 inch long rubber tube, flared at one end and glistening along its length with lubricating gel. With a smooth motion he slipped the narrow end of the tube up the girl’s nostril, feeding it in until the flared end pressed against the bottom of her nose and she tasted rubber at the top of her throat. Then he fitted a diaphragm into the back of her gaped mouth, well behind her teeth.
The acrid scent and taste of rubber overwhelmed the girl’s senses. She could breathe now only through her nose, and the tube that ensured her airway.
Next, the developer drew from the cart a curved plastic nozzle that trailed a clear tube; he flipped a switch on the cart and the nozzle made an sucking sound. He hung the suction tube at the corner of the stretched mouth, where it slurped up the girl’s copious saliva noisily.
“Now let’s take care of those teeth.”
The prisoner shivered under the hot lights. She hated visits to the dentist in any case, but the addition of the macabre restraints made this almost too much to bear. She closed her eyes and waited for the poking and scraping to begin, hoping he wouldn’t drill.
The developer reached into the girl’s spread mouth with a plier-like tool, grasped an upper front incisor firmly in its serrated jaws and wrenched it from her gum. He dropped the perfect white tooth into a steel bowl with a clink, and had pulled its twin to the left before the girl even understood what was happening. Her eyes snapped open in pain and shock, and she made a long mourning wail that was muffled by the rubber oral dam.
“Oh, stop it,” the developer admonished as he wrenched out a cuspid. “Unless you want Twelve to give you something to cry about?”
The wail fell to a whimper that went on as he worked his way around her mouth – grasping, wrenching, throwing away. The girl tasted blood, and the suction tube gurgled loudly. The pain was bad enough, but every clink of another tooth in the steel bowl sounded like a nail in her coffin.
She closed her runny eyes again and whined abjectly as the developer relocated her tongue to a stud on the metal arm above her upper lip. The pliers worked their way around her lower jaw, as the suction tube slurped again.
Finally one last clink. The developer released the pinned tongue and leaned back on his stool.
“OK, not so bad, eh? And no more flossing!”
The swollen red eyes of his restrained victim looked back at him piteously, begging for a better explanation. With her pierced tongue she felt around the soft, oozing gums.
“Now your gums have some time to heal, before the surgeons do the rest of your mouth work. Taking the teeth now means less bleeding later, and less time under the general anaesthetic, which reduces your risks.”
After a moment he sighed at her dissatisfaction with his obvious logic. “Alright, Twelve, pack her mouth with as much gauze as it’ll hold, and then clean up the depilatory. I’m not going to spend all day explaining things to a doll.”
The developer stood and pushed his cart to the counter by the wall. He set aside the bloody dental tools for the nurse to clean, washed his hands and began loading the cart-top tray with what he needed for the next procedure. Suddenly he heard an urgent, muffled whine. He turned and saw the nurse using her black thumb to jam cotton pads between the helpless girl’s spread lips. Below wide eyes the mouth was already stuffed to comic proportions; the flushing cheeks bulged like red balloons. He had to laugh.
“OK Twelve, that’s quite enough. I didn’t mean for you to go for the record. Clean her up now.” The nurse cleaned the girl’s face and wiped the spent follicle-killing cream from her armpits and pubic mound with moist towels, while the developer loosened the oral restraints and worked their steel fingers out from between gums and tight-packed gauze. Finally the nurse wrapped an elastic bandage tightly around the girl’s lower face and stuffed mouth.
“Now it’s time for you to meet the HOE.”
The two clinicians disappeared toward the foot of the table and the strange new machine, and in a moment the abused girl heard a quiet farting noise. The sound was made by a slippery gel oozing under pressure from the tip of the little black football, in response to the developer’s push of a button on the machine’s control box. The nurse spread the gel liberally over the thick rubber bulb, while the doctor loaded his gloved fingers with a generous blob of goo.
The still-teary victim shuddered and whined into the packed gauze as she felt cool gel touch her bald nether lips. A probing latex-wrapped digit penetrated her, then withdrew, then entered again. The developer was pushing gobs of gel deep into her tight, toned pussy. After a half-dozen pokes he held his finger inside and she felt him rotate and flex it, testing her lubrication and elasticity.
“Squeeze!” he said suddenly, and without thinking she clamped down on the intruding digit.
“Mmm-hmm. You have been a good girl! It’s too bad, really.”
His finger was drawn out of her, and the girl heard a heavy rumbling as the mysterious machine was wheeled into position between her spread legs. There were loud metallic thunks as the developer engaged lugs that held it to the floor.
“You must try to relax, Jasmine. There’s no fighting this – you’d only cause yourself more pain.”
An evil hiss was heard from below and in a moment she felt the little football nosing into her greased pussy. If this is a nightmare, she thought, please God let me wake up now!
The rubber intruder pressed forward. The girl fought the muscle relaxants and clamped down as hard as she could, but even without the drugs it would have been like trying to stop a train. Her eyelashes fluttered as thousands of pounds of hydraulic force pushed the bulb slowly into her, until it pressed against the dead end of her pleasure tunnel. She had never been so full.
Then there was a puffing sound, and the football grew until she felt stretched to her absolute limit. Above her stuffed and bandage-wrapped mouth her eyes bugged, and the breaths that rushed through the rubber nasal tube turned quick and shallow.
“OK, we have a starting depth of 19cm, and at test pressure we have 70mm diameter, internal….” There was a sound of keys being tapped, then the girl felt the walls of her pussy strain along their length as the bulb withdrew until one end peeked out between her lower lips. “…and 75mm at entrance.” More keystrokes, then the developer touched one last button and leaned back. The football burrowed slowly into the captive’s belly, then withdrew again.
After ten deliberate strokes the machine stopped with the bulb held at maximum depth. There was another puff of air, and the football swelled just a little more before resuming its slow, greasy pumping motion…
Chapter 9 – “Jasmine”
The girl’s discomfort turned to agony. When the pneumatic fist of the HOE pushed inwards her entire restrained body was forced up on the table, so that her head rocked back in its rest. When it withdrew, she felt like she was being turned inside out. The muscles of her tight young pussy strained and popped painfully as the horrible bulb was worked back and forth with irresistible force. After a dozen more strokes it paused….then after a spurt of additional lubricant came another puff of pressurized air as the merciless device expanded to take up the slack created in her stretching box.
Physical pain took a back seat to mental anguish, as she realized in her torment that this machine’s purpose was not stimulation or training. They were purposefully, measuredly, permanently ruining her. Before leaving her to suffer alone the developer looked down into the girl’s flushed, gauze-stuffed, tear-streaked face.
“I have to admit that to me, it seems like a waste of a fine, tight cunt. But you know what they say: the customer is always right!”
Sometime during the tortuous pussy-stretching the girl’s tears dried up. She had crossed that final threshold of abuse, into the unendurable.
If this had been an interrogation she would have spilled her guts long ago, and as soon as the pneumatic fist had swollen inside her she would’ve agreed to whatever accusations her tormentor might have made against her friends, her mother, or herself. But he didn’t ask her anything, he demanded no confessions. There seemed to be nothing she could do to satisfy him or his mindless machines.
Traumatized, unable even to grasp why the developer tortured her this way and long bereft of hope for rescue, the girl’s mind took the only path of escape it could. The shy, bright college student detached herself from intolerable reality and retreated deep into the recesses of her own brain.
When the HOE had with brutal precision stretched its victim’s vagina not quite to the point of rupture, it switched into a maintenance mode. Still greased regularly by the lube injector, the rubber bulb deflated slightly and moved slowly back and forth inside the girl, preventing her pussy from contracting again.
The broken captive’s gaze was fixed, almost unblinkingly, at the dark overhead monitor when the developer returned to inspect her now gaping cunt.
“Well, there it is. Nurse, bring me the retainer…” The doctor trailed off as he noted his subject’s blank, dry-eyed stare. He snapped his fingers before her face, then shone a penlight into the empty eyes. At last he switched off the light, stroked the girl’s hair and spoke to her gently.
“I see you’ve come to understand your role here, Jasmine. That’s a good girl.”
Abandoned and groping for a means of self-preservation, the girl’s mind seized upon the identity of the harem-doll Jasmine. Just tell her who this Jasmine was, and if that’s what the developer wanted she would play the part. Maybe if she played it well enough, he would stop hurting her.
The nurse handed the developer the “retainer,” a large plastic dildo. He pushed a button and the HOE retracted its cruel rubber fist; there was a loud slurping sound as it departed the scene of its crimes. The developer took a look inside the wide open tunnel before pressing the big retainer in to its hilts.
“Doesn’t that feel good?”
It did, actually, as the firm prop served to splint the wounded organ and prevented the overstressed tissues from swelling with blood. The retainer was soothingly cool, too: it was fresh from the refrigerator, and filled with heat-absorbing gel.
The nurse wrapped a nylon belt around the victim’s waist and used three elastic straps to secure the retainer in place, two descending from above the hips in front, and another between the butt cheeks in the back. The rear strap featured a small steel snap-ring for the plumbed captive’s anal waste tube to pass through.
“Rest now, Jasmine. You’re going to find your time will pass much more easily now, as long as you do what’s expected of you. Tomorrow you’ll start a new training program designed just for you, so you can learn how to satisfy your master and make him happy. If you do he may treat you well, even pamper you, and treat you like a rare and precious thing.”
“Just remember the most important rule: your only pleasure is your master’s pleasure. Seek always to please your master, and you may enjoy comfort and pleasure yourself. Think about that, Jasmine, and rest now.”
The developer flipped the catches on the table and tipped its inert passenger forward until her wide brown eyes stared at the floor. He watched as the nurse administered the maintenance purges, and as the black-wrapped attendant exited he dimmed the lights and followed her out of the room.
The girl’s night was filled with vivid dreams. She was a perfumed, silk-clad harem slave, dancing on her toes to exotic music while water tinkled in the palace fountain….
Then suddenly she was in the hot black pits of hell, bound in chains and raped by demons with dicks like baseball bats. She wailed, and begged to be allowed to suck their monstrous cocks instead, but their claws tore her flesh…
No, that was a nightmare-in-a-dream. She awoke from hell to find herself snug in a luxurious bed, lying on her back alongside her snoring master. She felt his sticky come dripping from her yawning mouth and wide cunt, and it felt fine. Then her master rolled over, stealing the blankets. Paralyzed she floated slowly toward the high, ornate ceiling, as though she were filled with helium…
The next morning Jasmine stared upwards, wide-eyed, while the unfortunate nurse tended her. As Twelve rubbed her refilled tits with the warming, softening cream – the nurse used both rubber-gloved hands on each of the basketball-sized glands now – the massaged prisoner hoped her owner would find her modified body attractive and worthy of gentle treatment, perhaps even pampering.
As the bloody gauze was pulled from her mouth and replaced with clean cotton, Jasmine wondered how she should best use her soft gums to please her master, to keep him satisfied and avoid his punishments.
When Ruta led Jasmine to the therapy room, her mouth was still wrapped and stuffed – albeit with a more reasonable quantity of gauze. She still tasted the rubber oral dam and breathed through her nose tube. The now warm plastic cock strapped inside her pressed back and forth uncomfortably as she walked, but she swung her wide hips saucily as instructed.
On the wide padded mat the amazonian therapist showed her stretches and exercises that she could do unaided, to maintain herself after leaving the clinic. Then she bent her charge’s pliant, voluptuous body into unfamiliar positions that – if somewhat strenuous – made her orifices invitingly available.
The retainer-dildo pressed at the walls of Jasmine’s sore, stretched cunt as she strained to arch her body into a bridge, pressing her head and spread knees into the lightly padded mat with her arms splayed limp alongside her. Her huge, heavy boobs were drawn downward by gravity until they shaded her inverted eyes from the overhead lights.
“Higher,” Ruta urged gently. “Wider!” The therapist touched her straining subject’s raised butt and open thighs lightly with a thin, flexible rod. The big dildo jabbed painfully at her aching tunnel but Jasmine struggled to comply, groaning with exertion as she displayed her plugged pussy to the ceiling. What yesterday would have seemed a painful humiliation was today an opportunity to prove and improve herself, and hopefully avoid future suffering.
Jasmine still found the arm exercises frustrating, a painful reminder of how she’d been maimed. At first she worked at them half-heartedly, wondering what use she would ever be able to make of her clipped wings. But she applied herself dutifully after Ruta explained that she might be asked to fondle her master’s balls while she swallowed his loads of spunk, or sucked his ass.
The girl who’d first awakened in the clinic would have considered such acts depraved, and abhorrent. But after weeks of intensive, subliminally charged training Jasmine found nothing objectionable in the suggestions. The notion of rubbing her nose in a funky ass-crack while probing the hidden sphincter with her tongue seemed as innocuous to her now as shaking hands.
While they worked through their routine another therapist led the bitted, armless pony into the room and set her to work on the treadmill again. There were others there, too, toiling under the watchful eyes of their trainers: A tall ebony beauty, her hair in skinny braids and adorned with heavy gold rings in ears, nose, nipples, and privates, was working on an exercise machine. A sheen of sweat covered her dark body as, with legs bound double, she used her toned arms to lift herself up and down on a thick dildo while her green-clad trainer stood by holding a cattle prod.
Nearby a tiny Asian girl struggled with the burden of her enormous breasts as she worked on the padded benches. From the front the fleshy zeppelins hid her torso completely, and together probably amounted to half her body weight. Sometimes the nipples – as big as the girl’s thumbs – brushed the padded floor as their bearer practiced humping large rubber pricks at a variety of angles. The poor thing’s trainer was another Asian female, wiry and flat-chested and not quite as short. She was clad in a snugly tailored burgundy jumpsuit and tall black boots with towering heels. The trainer’s long black hair was pulled back into a pony tail that wagged as she swatted her charge’s elephantine tits with a leather crop.
“Deeper, you worthless cow.” She muttered harshly through clenched teeth, punctuating her words with the crop. “Faster, or we begin again!” The ultrabuxom pixie moaned plaintively as she struggled to obey.
Another trainee, this one a slim blonde being worked out near Jasmine on the exercise mat, made the auburn-haired girl do a double-take. It could have been the twin of a famous pop star – naked, plugged, and twisted into a pretzel on the mat there next to her.
“No nice to stare.” Ruta touched her charge’s cheek gently. Jasmine returned her attention to her own assigned lessons. The other girls were all beautiful, and obviously talented. She became doubtful, feeling a little intimidated. The girl had never thought of herself as attractive, and after the way the clinic and the developer had mutilated her…
But then she recalled that her master had paid a high price for her at auction. She must be attractive, at least in his eyes.
The realization warmed her with hope, and motivation. She would make herself the best pleasure companion she could be! Jasmine was master’s third companion, the developer had said, but she would be his favorite. It was the best hope she had to be treated well – and competition was in her nature.
They concluded the session with a lap around the big therapy room, and Jasmine showed off her increasingly fluid gait. Ruta brushed her thighs with the flexible crop, shortening her stride until she walked with short, quick steps that made her plump curves bounce.
As she rotated her hips the trainee felt the big retainer pressing back and forth inside her, and thought of her new owner’s cock. He must be enormous! Her ride on the HOE had been agony, but maybe her developer had actually done her a favor by preparing her to receive her master’s huge manhood.
The bloated tit-sacs that blocked her view of anything below were, to Jasmine’s own mind, grotesque. But as she walked she tried to make them sway and wobble in rhythm with her mincing steps. She guessed her master would like that, and perhaps be moved to call her to his bed and give her an opportunity to earn a reward. A night in his soft, silk-appointed bed, perhaps, or a real meal of actual food. A hearty soup, maybe, that she wouldn’t have to chew.
Back in her room the budding pleasure doll stepped to the table and turned her back to the mesh without being guided. As Ruta secured the restraining bands the developer entered, trailed by the nurse carrying a tray full of sex toys.
“How was our Jasmine today, Ruta?”
“Oh, very good doctor sir! Jasmine work very hard, learn fast now. Is pleasure to train her.”
After Ruta departed the developer supervised the removal of the gauze that packed the girl’s mouth. It was nearly clean, so he instructed the nurse to remove the dam and nasal tube and clean her face. The ever-smiling doll worked her jaw in relief for a moment, then ran her tongue around her smooth, soft gums. When the nurse presented the mouth-propping face plate and feeder gag she opened unhesitatingly to accept it, and sucked down a bag of salty mush hungrily as the developer stood before her with the tray of toys.
“Pay attention now, Jasmine, we have some new devices to incorporate into your training program.” Speaking slowly, as though to a dimwit, he held up an 8 inch long plastic prod that featured three slight swellings along its length.
“This unit approximates the dimensions of your master’s cock. His is not lumpy like this, of course. Each of these three segments contains a separate pressure sensor.” He tapped the segmented prod as he spoke, illustrating his remarks. “You are to learn how to squeeze each segment individually, so you can please your master by milking his cock. This goes in your ass.”
Next he held up a much bulkier dildo, nine inches long and over two inches wide. It seemed heavy in his grasp, and sprouted both electrical connections and miniature plumbing fittings at its base. “This is for your cunt. Your master will probably never fuck you there but you’re to continue to tone your cunt, so that it doesn’t look sloppy and ugly after the stretching, and so you can grip whatever your master might put in it. We have a series of these and we’ll continue to upsize as your stretching progresses.”
He pointed to the clitty clip and a little nozzle that were mounted at the back end of the dildo. “Besides the larger size this unit has other features different from your old prod…well, you’ll find out. Technical details are no use to silly dollies! Twelve, get her rigged up.”
As soon as the slim masked attendant touched the new prods, Jasmine’s plugged snatch moistened. The developer stepped close to the upright table.
“Today you begin a new training program designed just for you, Jasmine, to help you learn how to please your master. After the training, it’s time for another go-round with the HOE. But if you are very, very good during the training, I’ll give you a pain blocker and you’ll barely know it’s happening. Understand? Good. I’ll be back when the training is complete to check on you and see if you’ve earned your reward.”
As he left, the gasping rubber-clad nurse tipped the captive backwards and replaced the vaginal retainer with the heavy, complicated dildo. The ease with which the large device entered told the girl how much her box had already been stretched. Her ass was still tight, though, and despite a liberal application of lubricant an involuntary whine escaped her as the new segmented prod was worked into place. The nurse exchanged the feeder gag for the training prod, connected a dizzying tangle of color-coded wires and hoses to the many sockets that adorned the trainee’s appliances, and dimmed the lights.
Jasmine looked up at the dark monitor intently. Every muscle and nerve in her body was poised, ready to strive for a high score on the new program. She wanted desperately to win the painkillers her doctor had promised, and also to learn the skills that she knew she must have to earn good treatment from her future master. Her intense focus recalled the manner that – in a previous life – the girl would have adopted as she climbed the high platform to make her final dive in a major meet.
The screen flickered to life to display: “Custom Training Program 1161 – JASMINE 1.0”
Then the familiar voice: “This program will require your strict attention at all times, Jasmine. Follow all instructions and you can avoid punishment, and perhaps earn a reward.”
“Focus your attention in your asshole.” The segment of the prod furthest from the tip buzzed lightly. “When you are ordered to CLENCH 1 you will squeeze this segment, only. If you understand, Jasmine, CLENCH segment 1 now.”
Jasmine tried, but the selective clenching was unfamiliar and she tripped the middle sensor. Small shocks stung her.
“That is incorrect, Jasmine. Since this task is new to you the punishments for failure will begin lightly, though as before they will increase in severity if you do not improve.” The first segment buzzed again. “Try again, Jasmine, CLENCH 1…”
It took the attentive anal student some time to master the complexities of the new device, and the stinging shocks built until grunts of pain forced their way past the faceplate. But she was determined to pass this test, and when she had finally done the CLENCH 1-2-3 combination properly – which had the effect of tugging the spring-mounted prod deeper into her ass – she smiled with pride.
Really smiled – for the first time in her new life, her emotions rose to fill the fixed grin that decorated her crippled face.
“That is satisfactory, Jasmine. Now maintain strict attention as we begin the rotation. Follow all instructions and you can avoid punishment while earning a reward. SUCK…”
The graphic porn videos returned to the screen, interrupted as before by the command words and occasional momentary bursts of static. The willing trainee adapted quickly to the new sophistication required of her ass. As the pace of commands slowly increased, and she matched it, the vibrating clips began to buzz and the big dildo rumbled to life. It not only massaged her as the earlier model had, but seemed to grow as well.
A half hour into the session Jasmine was just holding her own, as the pace of commands leveled off at almost one per second. The swelling dildo now stretched her expanded pleasure tunnel to a point just short of pain. The sophisticated prod had become heavier, as well as wider – its inflating agent was warm water.
Another pop of static on the screen and Jasmine realized that it excited her to be filled to the limit. Her spirits rose – maybe the huge dildo was what she needed to finally achieve release! Green lines wiggled on the brain monitor as she grunted and whined, struggling to keep up the squeezing and sucking that was demanded of her as the pitch of the vibrators rose…
Suddenly the nozzle pointed at her clit puffed a jet of air at the sensitive bud, and her whole body spasmed with the unexpected stimulation. The big, heavy dildo swelled just a bit more, so that she felt twinges of pain now, but the buzzing of the clips mounted and the puffs of air came quickly, driving her to the edge…
“COME, Jasmine.” The puffs turned staccato, and in a moment the green lines fluttered wildly as she bucked and screamed into her mask. Her pussy clamped down on the bloated dildo, adding to her pain as she came for the first time in her captivity, then the second time, then the third……
Finally she lay still and gasping, utterly spent.
Huh? She wasn’t even sure where she was.
The commands…the training wasn’t over…but…
“Aaaaaagh!” The painful shocks again.
“Maintain strict attention at all times, follow instructions and you can avoid punishment. SUCK.”
She’d forgotten rule number one. Her pleasure was secondary; her purpose was to please the master, who at the moment was embodied by the computerized training program. That it had allowed her finally to come did not release her from her duty.
She made the mouth prod click, and struggled to collect herself and focus on the screen…
When the developer returned he found Jasmine laying limp in her bonds, totally exhausted and soaked with sweat. But on the screen he found the word he was looking for: Satisfactory. With quiet words of praise he administered an injection, and even as the hydraulic cunt-stretcher was wheeled between her legs Jasmine flew away to a warm, fuzzy place.
Jasmine’s days took on an orderly routine, unlike the random and uneven schedules that had been designed earlier for the reluctant girl. Maintenance and rubdown in the morning were followed by a training session, a brief rest, a long session in the therapy room, and then more training before she faced the HOE.
The demands of the training program became more and more intense but she battled to meet them, and more often than not managed satisfactory scores. Thanks to her hard work and the developer’s mercy she did not have to face the horrible HOE again without drugs to help her endure it. She was grateful for the narcotic relief, but still felt twinges of dismay as she saw the retainers grow larger after every session.
Her already prodigious tits continued to swell with the regular injections, administered at the end of each day as she lay in a drugged stupor just before being put away for the night. But thanks to twice-daily applications of the skin-softening cream, and her regular exercise, they descended on her chest and lost their rigid, spherical shape. Just a few days after she first rose from the table the softening tits were swaying and sloshing like the liquid-filled bags they were. When she lay on her back now, they oozed off her chest until they rested heavily on her arms. Jasmine guessed their volume must be approaching the 8000cc mark. That was where, her developer had foretold, the final inflation to 10,000cc would take place, and her tits’ liquid filling transformed into spongy, naturalistic foam.
She was becoming quite proficient at milking the anal prod, and her flexibility continued to improve. After her fourth visit to the therapy room Ruta announced that Jasmine had become good enough at walking and performing in the wedge-soled trainers to move up to what she called “ballet pumps.”
These turned out to be narrow, open-fronted golden shoes with towering, skinny heels of black steel. Single straps just below the ankle bound them securely upon Jasmine’s delicate, modified feet. As with the trainers, she walked in this imposing new footwear with her 8 toes pointed straight down, pressed into small gel inserts in the botooms of the shoes. The gel pads distributed the load somewhat, though walking in the pumps remained an uncomfortable affair. The “soles” of the shoes were tiny patches of flat leather beneath her toes, no more than an inch across.
When she first saw them Jasmine doubted she could ever learn to walk in the impractical, dangerous-looking shoes. For one thing, without the support of the bulky trainers she didn’t think her toes could take her weight, to which her ever-growing boobs had added at least thirty pounds. And for another, without the big, rigid ankle straps to keep her feet straight she worried that her first misstep would lead to a broken ankle.
But again she surprised herself. The shoes appeared delicate but were very sturdily made, reinforced with metal and custom fitted so that they held her unnaturally narrow feet firmly. Her toes and ankles proved to be quite strong even without external support – the benefit, she supposed, of having been fixed almost rigidly and surgically reinforced in their “en pointe” positions.
By her third session in them Jasmine was moving nearly as well in the pumps as she had in the trainers. With such tiny areas of contact between shoe and floor balance was very tricky, and she could seldom stand on one foot for more than a moment. Ruta didn’t have to remind her now to shorten her stride. But standing in place – which afforded four points of contact – was not too difficult, even with her feet held close together as Ruta instructed. And once Jasmine became confident in her ability to stay upright on the new shoes, her stride became more gliding. The leather soles of the pumps did not catch on the floor and try to trip her as the rubber-bottomed trainers often had.
As the developer had predicted, the budding pleasure doll’s days did pass more easily since she’d become Jasmine, and stopped resisting her captors. As she continued to work hard and progress in her lessons and exercises, her handlers fed her spirit with encouragement and praise. She soaked it up like a sponge – even if it was delivered somewhat condescendingly, as though she were some dumb bimbo. Every day was filled with new challenges, like the shoes, and the strange contortions that Ruta taught her on the mat. And now Jasmine enjoyed sexual release on a semi-regular basis, too.
She was allowed to come once – or multiple times in a single event – during each training run. Her orgasms were carefully controlled: First she had to perform well enough in the early part of the session to raise the vibrating clamps and heavy, throbbing dildo to a certain pitch. When she’d been brought to a high level of arousal, the thrumming dildo would swell with pressurized water until – no matter how large she’d been expanded by the HOE – she was filled to the point of discomfort. Finally, if she could maintain her own performance upon the various prods, the machine would use the air jets and vibrators to send her over the edge.
But she had to remain focused on her responsibilities. During the introductory run of the new program, the computer had allowed her a break to collect herself after orgasm. But this respite was progressively shortened until she was required to keep up with the regular pace of commands even when in the deepest throes of her own ecstacy. If she failed to do so, her orgasm was cut short by a savage series of shocks.
Neither was she allowed to come until the dildo was fully inflated. If she tried to achieve release earlier in the program, the machine would shock her down as before. After just a few sessions with the new program the girl ceased even to become aroused until the swelling dildo filled her to the point of tension. And soon after that, she began to yearn at all times for the feeling of fullness and weight in her cunt. That sensation told her that she was performing well, and soon to be rewarded.
The door opened with a bang. From her routine Jasmine had expected Ruta and another therapy session, but it was the developer who entered. Behind him Nurse Twelve wheeled a heavy cart.
“You’ve made excellent progress, Jasmine. You should be proud of yourself! I think you’ll make your master very happy, and he’ll treat you well. Now we need to begin the other modifications he’s ordered for you. Don’t be afraid! When you wake up you’ll be prettier and sexier than you ever thought possible, and the perfect girl to best please your master.”
As he spoke the mechanized table slowly spread Jasmine’s legs for her. Nurse Twelve unstrapped and removed the latest retainer, then retrieved from the cart a clear plastic cylinder. Open at the ends and with gently curving edges, the thin-walled cylinder was at least four inches in diameter and close to a foot long. Even after her repeated sessions with the HOE it took both a liberal coating of lube and a generous application of elbow grease by Twelve before it was fully seated in Jasmine’s yawning tunnel.
“The surgeons are going to do as much of your abdominal work as they can arthroscopically, though your vagina, to minimize external scarring. So you see it’s a good thing you started early on the HOE!”
While the nurse started an IV drip line on Jasmine’s left arm, the developer inserted two nasal breathing tubes, then fumbled with more items on the cart. There was a squeak of knobs turning and a hiss of pressurized gas. He removed the gagging prod and face plate. Jasmine licked her lips as her developer held above her face a gray rubber mask that trailed floppy hoses. The hissing sounds came from the mask, along with a faint, sickly-sweet smell.
“Among the many improvements the surgeons are about to make will be some major changes to your mouth and throat. After you wake up it will be difficult, probably impossible for you to speak intelligibly. So if there’s anything you want to say, now would be the time.”
The pleasure doll continued to grin vacantly for a moment. Then she made a little cough, and breathed deeply. Her eyes blinked quickly for a moment, then narrowed just perceptibly from Jasmine’s usual vapid stare.
The girl’s slack lips barely moved as her voice was heard, high and quiet and seemingly from far away.
“Mah naim…wuss deborah.”
“Yes.” The developer paused for a moment, struck by her simple poetry. “Yes, of course it was. Goodnight now, Jasmine.”
He lowered the hissing rubber mask to her smiling face.